


so bitter and so sweet

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Practical Magic Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Dean, Brief Cigarette Use, Canon-Typical Violence, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship, Cop Castiel, Curses, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2017, Ghosts, Hand Jobs, M/M, Magic User Dean, Minor Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, Minor Character Death, Minor Ruby/Sam Winchester, Possession, Referenced Switching, Sam Needs A Hug, Spells & Enchantments, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-15 06:58:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 57,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12316071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: Dean has known about the family curse ever since it claimed the life of his mother: anyone who dares to love a Winchester is fated to die. When he takes a chance on love and loses his husband Benny, his belief in its power only grows stronger.Two years later, a late-night phone call from his brother Sam sends both of their lives spinning wildly out of control. Then Officer Cas Novak arrives in town, looking into the disappearance of Sam’s girlfriend Ruby, and starts asking questions Sam and Dean can’t answer. Complicating matters even further, Dean feels an immediate, overwhelming connection to the intense, blue-eyed source of their problems.Dealing with all the secrets, the lies, and a brother slowly crumbling under the weight of his guilt doesn’t leave much time for romance, but as Cas gets closer to the truth, he also gets closer to Dean.Inspired by the film Practical Magic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is, my first ever DCBB. 
> 
> A note on relationships: as you might have guessed from the summary, the Dean/Benny does not last very long, so please don't be discouraged by its presence at the beginning of the story. The Sam/Ruby relationship also does not end well (sorry). There is a very brief mention of Sam/Sarah Blake towards the end of the story. 
> 
> I am still stunned that I got to work with the incredible [sketchydean](http://sketchydean.tumblr.com/) on this project. Not only did she create some stunning artwork, but she also provided invaluable feedback along the way, and I cannot thank her enough. Please check out the [art masterpost on tumblr](http://sketchydean.tumblr.com/post/166337961821/the-art-masterpost-for-a-dcbb-story-so-bitter-and) and leave it some love. 
> 
> Thank you also to my beta, Anna, for being with me every step of the way, as always. Thank you to everyone in the Tropefest and DCBB chats for answering questions, offering encouragement, and being generally quality people.
> 
> Thank you, Spotify, for having the Practical Magic soundtrack available for me to listen to while writing. The title is a line from Joni Mitchell's A Case of You. 
> 
> And of course, thank you to the challenge mods, Jojo and Muse. You've made this a truly special, enjoyable experience, and I can't praise you enough for all your hard work.

Dean Winchester is four years old when he first hears of the family curse. He is four years old, and his mother is silent and still, her once-lively face turned cold and empty. He doesn’t understand it fully, won’t understand it for many years, but he knows that his mother is gone, that she’s never coming back, and that somehow, it’s all because she dared to love a Winchester.

His father is angry-- with fate, with himself, with his brothers and sister, who offer comforting words that he brushes aside with muttered phrases under his breath, railing against the injustice of a world that took his beloved wife from him too soon. John Winchester was supposed to be beyond the curse’s reach. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to him. Not to Mary.

Dean hovers over his baby brother’s crib, watching Sam smile and kick and gurgle to himself. He doesn’t know that their mother is gone. Dean is grateful for it, grateful that Sam will never feel the loss of their mother as keenly as he does. He wouldn’t wish the pain he feels on anyone, and especially not on his beloved brother.

The family gathers at the house that has been passed down through the generations. Dean’s uncle Bobby, oldest of the siblings, smiles softly at Dean whenever he sees him, but his eyes are filled with grief. Dean’s aunt Ellen and her husband Bill exchange fearful glances, Ellen’s arm resting protectively on the slight swell of her stomach, while Dean’s other uncle, Rufus, watches silently from the corner. 

“I’m sorry,” Bobby says to Dean’s father. “I’m sorry, John. When I lost Karen--”

But John turns away. He doesn’t want their empty words. He just wants his wife back. He gathers up his sons and leaves, ignoring his siblings’ protests. 

John refuses to stay in their little house any longer now that Mary is gone. He packs the boys up and straps Sam’s car-seat into his sleek 1967 Chevy Impala, Dean buckled in beside him, and they leave Sioux Falls behind them. 

Dean’s aunt and uncles wave goodbye, matching expressions of sadness on their faces. It’s the last Dean will see of them for many years.

***

When Dean is eleven years old, his father dies.

They’ve spent the years criss-crossing the country, with John picking up odd jobs here and there, sleeping in cheap motels or even in the car. Dean doesn’t mind. He has his father and his brother and a photograph of his mother that fades a little bit more every day, and that’s enough for him.

But then, on a rainy Tuesday evening, John’s heart fails him. 

It’s Dean who crouches by his father’s side and shakes him gently at first, then with growing urgency, until he realizes what has happened and falls back. He doesn’t cry. He just reaches for Sam, hovering nearby with wide eyes, and clings tightly to his hand, fragile bones creaking in his grip. 

With shaking fingers, Dean calls his uncle Bobby, and his voice only trembles slightly when he tells him what’s happened. It isn’t long before Sam and Dean are back in Sioux Falls, their scratchy suits from the funeral quickly discarded as Bobby and Rufus show them to the room they’ll share. 

Bobby and Rufus’ house is a marvel for two children who’ve grown up on the road. Solid walls and furniture that doesn’t carry the scent of other people’s bodies. Square meals and a proper table to eat at.

And then, of course, there’s the magic. 

The house is full of books. Large, weighty, leather-bound volumes, many of them in languages Dean has never even heard of. Bit by bit, he learns what his father so desperately tried to keep from them: the Winchesters may be cursed, but they’re also blessed with knowledge most people could never even imagine. John’s opinion of magic turned sour when it failed to save his wife from the curse, and he left Sioux Falls so his boys would never place their faith in it the way he had.

Bobby and Rufus see things differently. They know their magic can help people, even if it can’t save them. They offer Sam and Dean the choice, and of course, the boys choose to learn. 

They practice spell-work after their regular homework every night. Dean is naturally gifted, and Sam’s progress come in fits and starts, but they all expect he’ll catch up in time. Their successes are rewarded with gruff compliments and smiles that reach all the way to their uncles’ eyes, and their failures are greeted with gentle encouragement and comforting words. 

At home, magic is something that brings them closer together, but outside the walls of Bobby and Rufus’ house, it’s something that drives people away.

The townsfolk of Sioux Falls know what the Winchesters do. A town this size and a family that’s lived here for so many years, they’re somewhat of a local legend. On the street, people whisper and they sneer and they toss insults even at Sam, who’s too young to understand the human capacity for cruelty. Dean shelters him from taunting words and wishes he could make them see they’re not so different after all. 

And yet they do not hesitate to seek the aid of the Winchesters when things go wrong.

Sometimes, when he hears a knock late at night, Dean creeps out of bed and sits on the stairs, hidden by the curve of the railings, and watches as Bobby and Rufus work. The people who come to them are desperate, furtive, ashamed, but his uncles treat them with kindness and patience that Dean isn’t sure they deserve. Sometimes Sam joins him and they sit in silence together, eyes wide as they watch their uncles prepare spells or potions for their visitors, marvelling at the skill and knowledge of their family members. Someday, they tell each other, that will be us.

And maybe someday, they will be respected for what they do, rather than feared.

***

When Dean is thirteen, he finally asks the question that’s been hovering in the back of his mind for the past two years.

“Bobby, Rufus,” he says slowly, looking up from his book of spells, “Dad died of a broken heart, didn’t he?”

His uncles exchange long glances, years of silent communication working in their favour.

“Yes,” Bobby finally replies. “The doctors said it was a weak heart, but we knew.”

Dean nods. He thinks he understands the curse a bit better now. Whosoever dares to love a Winchester is fated to die: his mother, Bobby’s wife Karen, Rufus’ wife Monica, and Ellen’s husband Bill. Why his father was the only one not to withstand the loss, Dean will never know. But the curse took both their parents from him and Sam, one way or another.

Dean refuses to let it claim him as well. He finds the spell in one of the dustiest books in the library, and he spends weeks gathering the ingredients and waiting for the right phase of the moon. 

He goes out to the porch and begins his preparations. Sam hovers in the shadows, silently observing.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice still high and thin, still with a child’s innocence.

“It’s a true love spell,” Dean replies absently, focused on his task. “Called _amas veritas_.”

Sam falls silent once more, and Dean returns to his spell. He plucks a flower from the vine that grows over the porch and places it gently in the bowl, rotating it in his hands.

“They’ll have the name of an angel, and a face to match,” he says dreamily. “They’ll have eyes as blue as the sky and as deep as the ocean. As I draw strength from the moon, they’ll draw strength from the sun, and when they say my name, it will sound sweeter than any song in the world.”

“I thought you never wanted to fall in love,” Sam frowns. 

“I don’t,” Dean answers. “That’s the whole point. The person I’m talking about? They don’t exist. And if they don’t exist, I’ll never fall in love. And if I never fall in love, I’ll never die of a broken heart.”

He adds the last pinch of herbs and raises the bowl to the sky, murmuring the incantation in even, measured tones. The breeze stirs the ingredients and lifts them, drifting upwards in a slow spiral towards the distant moon. Dean watches with satisfaction, and he swears he can feel an invisible wall growing around his heart as the spell takes hold. 

“I wonder what it feels like, falling in love,” Sam murmurs from behind him, but before Dean can reply, Sam slips away to bed.

Dean stays on the porch for a long, long time, staring up at the moon.

***

When Dean is twenty-two years old, Sam goes away to college. He’s desperate to leave Sioux Falls behind, desperate to be away from the place where everyone knows them as the strange family from the outskirts of town. Dean helps him pack, though every fibre of him wants to beg Sam to stay, not to leave him alone. Dean never went to college, never felt the desire to leave. He still clings to the vain hope that someday the town will accept them for who they are. He works with Bobby in the scrap yard and helps the uncles with their spellwork when required.

It will be different without Sam, though. They’ve shared everything up to this point, and now Dean will be left behind while he goes off to have adventures all on his own. He knows it’s what Sam wants, but he can’t help worry about him. There’s a recklessness, an impulsiveness about Sam that sometimes leads him to trouble. Maybe college will help him settle, help him find the path beneath his feet.

“Promise you’ll write,” he says to Sam, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Sam nods. “Of course.” He rummages around in his bag and draws out a small pocketknife. Without even blinking, he scores a shallow cut into his palm, then gestures to Dean to hold out his hand. Dean does, and Sam makes a matching cut across his palm.

They clasp hands tightly. “My blood,” Sam says firmly. “Your blood.”

“Our blood,” they say together.

It’s an old ritual, a physical manifestation of the innate bond between family members. It grounds Dean, reminds him that Sam will be far away in distance but not in spirit. They’ve always shared an uncanny awareness of one another, and this will only strengthen it. 

Dean watches his brother’s tall figure disappear down the long driveway that leads away from their home, and wonders when he’ll see him again.

***

When Dean is twenty-six, he falls in love.

Benny is new to Sioux Falls, a native of Louisiana who came north after years of restless wandering. He settles in and opens a Cajun restaurant and one day Dean is drawn in by the smells wafting out onto the street. When he sees the twinkling eyes and solid build of the man behind the counter, he stays a lot longer than he intended. He comes back again the next day, and the next, until Benny finally asks him if he’d like to have a meal with him somewhere else. Dean shakes his head, and Benny’s face falls, but then Dean clarifies that there’s nowhere else he’d rather eat. Benny’s smile spreads slowly, and Dean matches it with one of his own, and when he tilts his face up for a kiss, Benny meets him halfway.

Bobby and Rufus act tough when Dean brings Benny around to meet them, but later, they smile fondly at Dean and tell him how happy they are for him. Dean flushes and hugs them roughly, grateful for their support and their acceptance. 

Eight months later, Dean and Benny get married in a small ceremony in the town square. Sam comes home in order to be his brother’s best man, and Dean marvels at the changes in him, the length of his hair and the breadth of his shoulders. He doesn’t stay long, but it’s enough. 

Dean and Benny have two blissful years together, and Dean forgets about the curse, forgets about the way the town treats his family. He and Benny live in the apartment above the restaurant and people greet Dean on the street with smiles and waves. He still goes to work in Bobby’s yard and occasionally helps out at Ellen’s bar to lighten the load on his cousin Jo. His marriage hasn’t taken him away from his family, but it has given him something that’s his and his alone, and it’s precious to him. 

He has a husband who loves him, and that should be his first warning, but Dean is swept up in his happiness and forgets that no Winchester can keep such a thing for long.

***

When Dean is twenty-eight, his husband dies.

It’s a complete accident. The kind that makes people shake their heads and murmur something about how sad it all is. Benny is hit by a truck as he waits for a delivery for the restaurant, and Dean doesn’t even have time to say goodbye. He crouches by his husband’s body, the scene eerily reminiscent of the day his father died seventeen years ago, and once again, Dean doesn’t cry. 

Gentle hands pull Dean to his feet, and he collapses into Jo’s arms. She bears his weight bravely despite her small stature, and she knows better than to offer him any meaningless words of consolation. Her presence speaks well enough. 

The entire town shows up for the funeral, and Dean hates them for it, for the way they look at him with such pity and tell him how wonderful Benny was. As if he doesn’t know. He knows exactly how wonderful Benny was, and Dean should have stayed far away in spite of it.

It’s his fault Benny is dead, after all. 

They bury him in the town cemetery, and after all the others have left, Dean stands alone in front of his husband’s grave. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, placing a hand on the headstone, tracing over the words _Beloved Husband_ inscribed there. “I’m so sorry.”

Benny loved him, and he died for it.

It’s only then that Dean truly understands what it means to be a Winchester. What it means to be cursed.


	2. Chapter 2

In the days following Benny’s funeral, it becomes more and more difficult for Dean to pull himself out of bed. A faint trace of Benny’s scent lingers on the sheets, and he wraps himself in the worn cotton, imagining Benny’s arms around him. 

He’s curled up in that exact position three days after the funeral when the bedroom door creaks open. Expecting to see Bobby or Rufus again, Dean raises his head to not-so-politely ask them to leave him alone.

It’s not one of his uncles standing there, though. It’s Sam.

Dean tries to greet him, but the words catch in his throat as it suddenly tightens, his eyes filling with tears he desperately tries not to let fall. 

Sam’s long legs carry him forward across the room, and he drops onto the bed beside Dean, one large hand resting on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I missed the funeral,” Sam says quietly. 

Dean would have given anything to have his brother beside him on that day, but he has no room in his heart to feel hurt by his absence. All he can feel is his grief. 

“You’re here now,” he replies. His voice is hoarse from disuse, and Sam frowns at the sound of it, then pulls a bottle of water out of his bag and hands it to Dean, helping him sit up to drink it. 

It would be embarrassing with anyone else, needing this much help, but not with Sam. They’ve always depended most on one another. 

Dean drinks the entire bottle of water before speaking again, and Sam doesn’t push him, just waits patiently. He takes the empty bottle from Dean and throws it aside, then turns to face him more fully, knowing Dean will talk when he’s ready.

“We were talking about buying a new house,” Dean says softly. “Moving somewhere bigger. The restaurant was doing really well, and Benny didn’t need to be on-hand all the time anymore, so we could have the distance from it.”

He pauses, shaking aside the memory of the look on Benny’s face as Dean pointed out the advantages of an entire house all to themselves.

“We were so happy.”

“I know,” Sam says. “Every time you called me, I could tell how happy he made you. And how happy you made him. I saw the way he looked at you at your wedding, Dean.”

“It’s my fault that he’s dead,” Dean says flatly. “How could I do that to him.”

“Hey.” Sam’s hand is gentle on Dean’s face, tipping it up to meet his gaze. “It is not your fault, alright?”

“I knew about the curse. I knew what happened to Mom, to Karen, to Bill…”

“You can’t control who you fall in love with,” Sam points out. 

And that’s exactly what Dean hasn’t wanted to think about. What he’s been avoiding considering since his first date with Benny, in fact.

“Except that I did,” he whispers. “Don’t you remember? I cast a spell so I’d never fall in love, but I still did.”

Sam’s eyes go distant as he remembers that night so many years ago. “But Benny didn’t…” he starts, then catches himself before he says something insensitive.

“I know,” Dean sighs. “He didn’t fit the list of qualities I used in the spell. Meaning it wasn’t true love. Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

Despite his best efforts to keep himself under control, a single tear slips down his cheek. Sam makes a small sound at the sight of it, and then all of Dean’s resolve crumbles, all the sadness that’s been sitting heavily in his chest spilling out of him. 

Sam reaches out and pulls him into an embrace, and Dean finally allows himself to cry.

When his tears subside, Sam wordlessly passes him a tissue to wipe his eyes with. Dean attempts to bring his breathing back under control, feeling wrung-out and hollow.

“Have you eaten?” Sam asks. “You look thin.”

“Can’t go in the kitchen,” Dean says shortly. “Too many memories.”

Dean always liked to cook, and used to think he was pretty good at it, but he was nowhere as talented as Benny. The kitchen was Benny’s space, modeled to his own specific designs. It would feel empty without him.

Sam nods and pats Dean’s knee through the covers. “I’m gonna get you something to eat,” he announces. “And you are going to take a shower.”

Dean starts to shake his head, unwilling to get out of bed, but Sam gets his most stubborn look on his face. “Not a negotiation,” he says. “You smell worse than you used to after wrestling practice.”

Dean is startled into laughter, and that’s enough to convince him to at least attempt to move from his place in bed. Sam watches with a smile as he pulls himself to his feet, unsteady after days of inactivity, and stumbles towards the shower.

The warm water is soothing on his skin, and Dean relaxes under the spray, scouring every inch of his body until he feels refreshed. He changes into well-worn jeans and an old t-shirt with one of Benny’s sweatshirts over top, then rejoins Sam in the kitchen.

His brother has never been much of a cook, but he’s managed to heat up some soup likely brought over by a concerned friend. Dean nods his thanks and sits down, starting with small spoonfuls. Sam watches him, his hands folded on the table in front of him, and for the first time, Dean notices the black lines of a tattoo peeking out from under Sam’s sleeve.

“What’s that?” he asks. He never thought Sam would be the type to get inked, but then again, Sam has always been somewhat unpredictable.

Sam flushes faintly, which only rouses Dean’s curiosity further. “Nothing,” he says, the same way he always would when Dean caught him doing something he shouldn’t have been. 

“Come on,” Dean wheedles. “Let me see it.”

Sam sighs heavily and rolls up his sleeve, revealing the piece in its entirety: a gorgeously stark tree that covers almost the entire length of his lower arm. Dean lets out a low whistle, impressed both by the size and the level of detail.

“That’s pretty awesome,” he says. “How long ago did you get that?”

He doesn’t remember Sam having it at the wedding two years ago, which was the last time he saw him. He knows Sam has moved a few times since then, his freelance writing projects affording him a measure of flexibility in his domestic arrangements. 

“About six months?” Sam shrugs. “Yeah, six months.”

Dean studies him carefully for a few minutes. Sam is deliberately avoiding his eyes, which means there’s more to the story. 

“So, who’s the girl?” he asks.

He’s rewarded with Sam’s jaw dropping open in surprise, and Dean grins. 

“How did you-- never mind.” Sam shakes his head. “I’m not even going to ask how you went from tattoo to girl.”

“But I was right, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Sam sighs.

Dean waits, but Sam doesn’t provide any further details. “So, what’s her name?” he asks eventually.

“Ruby,” Sam replies, his eyes going soft. “She’s a bartender.”

“Is it serious?” Dean isn’t sure he wants to know the answer to that question. On the one hand, he wants Sam to be happy, but on the other, he knows all too well how brief that happiness is likely to be. 

Sam shrugs. “It’s….intense,” he says. “She’s intense. Always surprising me. But she makes me feel alive in a way no one else ever has.”

Dean nods, unsure how to proceed. He wants to tell Sam to run before it’s too late, to get out while he still can, but he also knows Sam would never listen to him anyways. 

So instead, he summons up a smile and says, “Tell me more.”

Sam shrugs again, uneasy. “Are you sure…” he trails off, clearly hesitant to talk about his own love life when Dean’s husband is lying cold in his grave.

“Distract me.”

“Okay.” Sam pushes his hair behind his ears, a soft look on his face. “Uh, let’s see. I met her about a year and a half ago, I guess? Stopped in Rapid City for a night, went for a beer, you know, the usual. I noticed her right away, behind the bar, but she was pretty busy, so I didn’t make a move. Then just as I’m finishing up my burger, she comes over with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, sits down and starts stealing my french fries. One thing led to another, and then…”

“You can skip the nudity,” Dean interrupts. He’s pretty sure he knows where this story is going, and he also knows from experience that Sam occasionally over-shares.

“You sure?” Sam teases. “Alright, if you insist.”

“And what, you just kept going back?” Dean is intrigued. Sam’s never been one to settle down. Not in one place, and not with one person. This Ruby girl must be something special. 

“Pretty much,” Sam nods. “It was a pretty casual thing at first. I wasn’t always going to be around, and she never minded. I think she kind of preferred it that way, honestly. But then…”

He goes quiet long enough that Dean has to prompt him to continue. “Then what?”

“She saved my life,” Sam says quietly. “God, that sounds so melodramatic, but it’s true. I had stopped by one night, was waiting for Ruby to finish her shift, and these three guys decided to pick a fight for reasons I still don’t understand. I tried to brush them off, but they were drunk and angry and riled up, and they just started in on me. I fought back, obviously, but it was three on one. Somebody called the cops, but before they could get there, I was on the ground, one of the guys had pulled a knife, and then I heard a gunshot.”

He pauses for a moment, shaking his head, then continues. “I thought that was it, one of them had shot me, but it wasn’t. Ruby had grabbed the gun from behind the bar and fired it as a warning. I looked up and there she was, staring these three huge guys down with it pointed at them. Kept them there until the cops turned up.”

“Wow.” It’s an inadequate response, Dean knows, but it’s all he can come up with. “That’s...that’s really something, Sammy.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “She’s really something.”

“I’d like to meet her, someday,” Dean offers. 

“I’d like that too. But not until you’re better, okay?”

“Okay,” Dean agrees. He doesn’t know how long that will take. What being better will even look like for him, after this loss. But it’s a goal to work towards, at least.

***

Eventually, Sam convinces him to leave the apartment, to go back to Bobby and Rufus’ house with him. He came straight to see Dean as soon as he arrived in Sioux Falls, and Dean knows it’s been a long time since Sam has seen their uncles, so he reluctantly allow himself to be dragged along.

And Sam is great-- he keeps most of the attention on himself so Dean doesn’t have to talk much, especially if he smiles and nods at the rights moments, pretending to be actively engaged in the conversation. At one point Sam texts Jo and she and Ellen sweep in half an hour later, the entire Winchester family--what’s left of it, anyway-- reunited for the first time in years.

He knows they’re trying to keep his spirits up while also respecting his intense desire not to focus on his grief, but eventually, the jovial mood begins to grate on Dean’s nerves. He excuses himself, murmuring something about using the bathroom, but instead of slipping upstairs, he makes his way out to the porch.

He’s always found it easier to breathe in the open air. Benny used to tease him for it, the way he would leave the window in their bedroom open just a crack even in the dead of winter, but he never complained when Dean snuggled in closer for warmth. 

Dean looks up at the moon, dim and distant tonight, and feels his loss like an ache in his heart.

He’s not sure how long passes, but obviously it’s long enough that someone started to worry about him, because the door creaks open behind him and both Sam and Jo appear. Dean frowns, intending to wave off their concern, but their matching expressions tell him it’s no use.

They always did know how to weaken his resolve, those two. Born within a year of each other, they make almost as good a team as Sam and Dean do.

Sam leans against the railing to Dean’s right, while Jo hops up onto it on his left side, a silent but powerful arrangement that speaks of love and protection. Neither of them say anything, but Sam reaches into his pocket and withdraws a pack of cigarettes, lighting one with the ease of long practice.

Dean crinkles his nose as the first plume of smoke drifts into the air. “That shit’s gross,” he complains. “And since when do you smoke, anyway?”

Sam shrugs, but at least he angles himself so the smoke blows away from Dean and Jo. “On and off for a few years now.”

Before the tattoo. Before this Ruby girl. Dean doesn’t know whether that’s reassuring or not. “Bobby would kick your ass if he saw you doing that, you know.”

“Not if my mom got there first,” Jo adds. “And honestly, I’d be more scared of her.”

Sam just laughs, his cigarette dangling from his fingers as he pushes his other hand through his hair. “I am more scared of Ellen, it’s true. But I thought we came out here to get a break from talking about me.”

“Fine,” Jo says, crossing her arms over his chest and still managing to maintain her balance on the railing. “For now.”

“It was quiet out here,” Dean comments. “Peaceful, you know.”

“Peace is overrated,” Jo replies, and Sam nods in agreement. “I know this is a tough time, Dean. But you’re going to get through this.”

No, Dean thinks to himself, she doesn’t know anything about it. Jo has never been in love. She says she’s just not wired that way, and that it’s a good thing, considering the curse. Dean hopes she’s right, because he never wants her to know anything about the way he feels right now. 

“Bobby did,” Sam points out, his voice going soft, more like the voice Dean remembers from their younger years. “Rufus did, Ellen did. They’ve all lost people, Dean, and they’re still here.”

He shouldn’t have to point it out, but he does. “Dad isn’t.”

Jo and Sam exchange uneasy glances. 

“Dad was--” Sam starts, but Dean cuts him off.

“Dad was what? He was too young to die from a bad heart, Sam. Medically speaking. We all know why he died.”

Jo’s face is pale in the moonlight. “Dean, you’re not--”

His laughter is bitter. “I don’t know. How could I know? Am I going to die of a broken heart too? I don’t want to. Believe me on that. But the way it feels--” he places a hand on his chest, squeezing lightly-- “so hollow, so empty, it’s not exactly encouraging.”

“Your dad left,” Jo says quietly. “He took you and Sam and he left. Left his home, left his family. Those are the things that could have kept him going, maybe. So those are the things you need to hold on to most tightly, okay?”

She slides down from her perch and squeezes Dean’s shoulder lightly as she brushes past him. “I’ll go keep the older generation from fretting,” she calls back over her shoulder. “Come back in when you’re ready.”

Dean lifts his hand in a wave, and as he brings it back down, Sam catches it, inspecting the faint scar across his palm.

The corner of Sam’s mouth turns up, and he flips his own hand over, revealing the matching scar. “My blood,” he says, then presses their hands together. “Your blood.”

“Our blood,” they say together. 

The familiar ritual steadies Dean, comforts him, pushes aside some of the darkness that’s been gathering in his chest. The changes in some of Sam’s habits unsettle him, but this hasn’t changed. This is constant. The core of Sam, the foundation of their relationship, will never be shaken, no matter how many tattoos he gets or cigarettes he smokes. 

“Jo’s right, you know,” Sam comments, dropping Dean’s hand. “I don’t think you should stay in that apartment alone, Dean. You need to be with your family.”

Dean has heard this countless times over the past few days, but somehow, it’s different coming from Sam. He finds himself nodding. “I know.”

“One more night, okay? I’ll come back with you, and tomorrow we’ll start packing stuff up.”

“How long are you staying?” Dean asks, hating how needy he sounds. But he knows Sam won’t judge him for it.

“A few more days,” Sam replies. “Maybe a week.”

Dean nods again. Part of him rails against the thought of moving back into this house, bringing the widower count up to three, but he knows Sam is right. It isn’t healthy for him to stay in an apartment full of memories. All the best ones are locked in his heart and his mind, and he’ll carry them with him no matter where he goes, but he needs the distance, at least for now.

And if anyone will understand what Dean is going through right now, it’s Bobby and Rufus. 

So he goes back into the house, and he summons a small smile, and he eats a slice of Ellen’s apple pie even though he still doesn’t have much of an appetite. Benny may be gone, but Dean is still here, and his shattered heart is still beating.

***

Slowly, Dean puts himself back together.

It isn’t a matter of days, or weeks, or even months. With Sam’s help, he cleans out the apartment and moves back into Rufus and Bobby’s house. The restaurant was left to him, but he can’t bear to run it alone, so he calls Benny’s niece Elizabeth and asks if she wants to take it over. She accepts the job along with the apartment, and Dean hands over the keys and the papers with a sad smile. Elizabeth is warm and smart and has the same accent as Benny did. She’ll do right by his legacy.

Sam leaves after a week, just like he said he would, but he makes a point to check in with Dean every day for the first three months or so, when the loneliness is at its most overwhelming. He’ll call or text or send a picture of wherever he is that day, and Dean will be distracted from his grief, at least temporarily.

He sleeps with his window open every night, but there’s no warm body in the bed beside him to curl into against the chill of the nighttime breeze. 

Eventually, he gets tired of the way his uncles look at him like they’re expecting him to snap at any moment, so two months after Benny dies, he does exactly that. He goes out to the yard and takes a bat to one of the rusted-out cars parked behind the house, and by the time he’s done, he can’t tell if the wetness on his face is from sweat or from tears. Most likely, it’s a combination of the two.

Bobby stands with his arms crossed over his chest, watching him warily. “Feel better?” he asks, handing Dean a bottle of water once he deems it safe to approach.

Dean swallows half the bottle in one gulp, letting it splash down his chin. “Much.”

“At least you picked a piece of junk to take it out on,” Bobby says with a wry smile. “I wasn’t that smart. Beat one of my favourites all to hell, then spent months putting her back together.”

It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that Dean isn’t the only one in this house who has felt this kind of loss. When his own grief insulates him from the feelings of those around him. He feels guilty, now, and wishes he had been more appreciative these past months. 

“Bobby,” he says, “I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick.”

His uncle just claps him on the back. “Now’s as good a time as any to start fresh,” he advises. 

So Dean does. He knows he could go back to what he did before Benny, working with Bobby in the yard, but now that he’s tasted independence, he thinks he needs some time away from the house. 

Fate smiles upon him in the form of his old friend Charlie Bradbury, who moves back to Sioux Falls five months after Benny’s death and asks Dean if he wants to go into business with her. Charlie, unlike most of the town, has never minded about the strange books and even stranger ingredients that could be found lying around the Winchester home. She proposes they open a new natural health store in town, and Dean agrees.

Charlie is good for him. She’s known sadness in her life, having lost both her parents as a teenager, but her spirit is resilient, and she always knows how to make Dean smile. With the help of her sizeable savings account, built up from years of freelance computer work, they turn their dream into reality in the form of a small store in a historic building in the town centre. They name it Oak and Honeysuckle, and Dean is surprised but grateful at how easily the town accepts and supports them.

He spends the one-year anniversary of Benny’s death at the store, and it helps keep his mind off things. Charlie brings him an extra large coffee and a sympathetic smile, but lets him keep himself busy with work, and Dean is grateful for it. He receives a few mumbled sympathies from customers, and accepts them graciously, but he wishes they would just let him pretend it was an ordinary day. 

He visits the cemetery in the evening and sits in silence for over an hour. The sun sets slowly behind him, bathing the headstone in its light, almost as warm as Benny’s smile. Finally he raises his fingers to his lips and then presses them to the headstone, and then turns away.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s a warm night in September when Dean gets the call. He’s alone in the house, Bobby and Rufus off for a fishing weekend at Rufus’ old cabin in Montana, and the sound of his phone is startling in the silence of the night. 

As soon as he’s awake enough to understand where the noise is coming from, a feeling of dread settles in the pit of his stomach. Something is wrong.

“Sam?” he says into the phone, not even bothering to look at the display. He knows it’s his brother calling. “What’s wrong?”

All he hears from the other end of the line is static crackling, then Sam’s voice muttering obscenities under his breath. “Sam,” he repeats, more urgently. “Sammy, what’s going on?”

“There was an accident,” Sam says tersely, and Dean’s heart drops. But Sam is okay, he’s talking to Dean right now, which means--

“Ruby’s in rough shape,” Sam continues, and there’s the barest hint of a quiver in his voice. “I’m on my way to Sioux Falls, Dean, we gotta help her.”

“What? Where are you? Take her to a hospital. Now.” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his breathing steady. He needs to stay calm. For Sam. 

“No, too late now,” Sam says, and what the hell he means by that, Dean doesn’t know. “I-- shit, Dean, I gotta go.”

“Sam,” Dean bites out, but the line goes dead. He immediately tries to call back but Sam doesn’t answer, nor does he answer the next five times Dean calls. 

Dean swears and angrily rolls out of bed, throwing on his jeans and a t-shirt, then stumbles down to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He keeps trying to call Sam back as it brews, but Sam must be concentrating on driving, because he continues to let the calls go to voicemail. Dean doesn’t bother leaving a message.

Why would Sam bring Ruby here? If she was in an accident, shouldn’t he have called 911? And was Sam involved in the accident at all? Dean has too many questions, too many worries, and he hopes Sam either calls him back or gets here soon, because he needs answers. He has a feeling this situation is going to be far from simple.

And of course, Rufus and Bobby are away for the weekend. Dean considers calling them, asking them to come back, but it’s several hours’ drive to the cabin in Montana, and he doesn’t want to bother them. Whatever this is, whatever’s happening, he and Sam can handle it.

Or so he hopes.

He takes his coffee out to the porch to wait for Sam to arrive, and about an hour later, he hears the rumble of an engine approaching along the long drive that leads into the property. The headlights of Sam’s car are soon visible, and Dean stands, nervous energy thrumming through his body.

Sam opens his door, and Dean takes a step back, shocked at the frantic look in his brother’s eyes. “She’s not breathing,” Sam says, and his voice-- fuck, Dean has never heard him sound so broken. 

He takes a step forward, arms raised, but Sam shakes his head tightly and moves away to open the back door of the car. He crouches down, and all Dean can see is long dark hair spilling out as Sam lifts the body in his arms and straightens back up.

Dean’s first thought is how small she is, especially when held against Sam’s broad chest. There’s a jagged cut across her forehead, and he can see rips in her dark clothing, but he guesses the colour hides most of the blood.

“Let’s get her inside,” he says, because what else do you say when your little brother shows up at four in the morning with his girlfriend’s body in his backseat?

Dean’s life was supposed to be normal now. Settled. Placid. He has the distinct feeling that all of that is about to change. 

He holds the door open for Sam, and they carefully lay Ruby’s body down on the long table in the kitchen, which Dean had cleared while waiting for the coffee to brew. Under the lights, Dean can see her a bit better. Her face is pale, particularly against the near-black of her hair, but she must have been beautiful in life. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “Sam, what happened?”

Sam won’t meet his eyes, staring down at Ruby’s body. “I don’t know why she did it. Why she couldn’t call a cab, or ask me to come get her. But she’d been drinking, and she was on her way to see me. Ran her car off the road.”

Dean frowns. “How did you know?”

“Location app,” Sam says with a bitter laugh. “It’s not as creepy as it sounds, I swear, it’s just something we did, since I travel so much...so we always knew where we were in relation to each other, you know? She called me before she left work, saying she was on her way, and then the tracker just stopped, and…”

He swallows tightly, and Dean can figure the rest out on his own. Except--”She was still alive when you found her?”

Sam nods. 

“And you didn’t call 911? Sam, what the hell!”

“I don’t know, okay! I panicked. I thought, you know, Rufus and Bobby have all these books, all these spells, and she’s got a record of drunk driving, so I thought if I just got her here and fixed her up it would all be okay--”

It sounds so ridiculous, but on some level, Dean thinks he might have done the same thing in Sam’s situation. Home has always been their refuge. Family has always been their solution. Other people never understood them, so they depended on each other. 

Except this time, home was too far away.

Even if Sam didn’t take the proper steps up to this point, it’s not too late to start now. “Does she have family we should call?” he asks. He was lucky, with Benny, only having Elizabeth to inform of his passing. 

Sam doesn’t answer.

“Sam?’ Dean lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Sam, I’m sorry. I am. But if there are people who need to know--”

“There’s no one,” Sam says tersely. “And there’s nothing to know.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Sam runs a hand through his hair and exhales shakily. “There’s nothing to know, because we’re going to bring her back.”

His words echo in the sudden silence that follows. Dean freezes, memories of a similar conversation from almost two years ago running through his mind.

Right after Benny died, Dean asked his uncles to bring him back. He’d seen the spell in one of their books years before, and he knew it could be done. Desperate in his grief, he’d begged and pleaded with them to help him bring back his husband, but they had refused. The spell couldn’t be worked alone, and so, eventually, Dean gave up, and resigned himself to never hearing Benny’s chuckle again. 

So he understands Sam’s desire to bring Ruby back to life. He understands why Sam thinks it’s possible-- he must have stumbled upon the spell in his younger years as well. And there are two of them now, capable of working it. 

But they can’t.

“Sam,” he says, slowly shaking his head. “No.”

“Why not?” Sam snaps, his eyes wild. “I’ve seen the spell. We can do it, Dean. We can bring her back. I’m sure we have all the ingredients here, and between the two of us, we have the power.”

“It’s not a question of whether we can,” Dean explains. “It’s a question of whether we should.”

“Of course we should!” Sam hisses. “Remember what I told you, about how she saved me? I’m not going to let her die, Dean, not when there’s something I can do about it. And on top of that, it’s my fault, anyway.”

“It is _not_ your fault,” Dean says immediately. “It was an accident, Sam.”

“An accident that happened while she was on her way to see me,” Sam points out. His logic is flawed, obviously, but Dean is self-aware enough to know he would probably feel the same guilt were he in Sam’s place.

But guilt isn’t reason enough to do this. 

Sam doesn’t know that Dean wanted to bring Benny back. Dean’s frantic pleas to Bobby and Rufus were on the day Benny died, days before Sam arrived in Sioux Falls. It’s one of the few things Dean has never talked about with his brother. Until now.

He takes a deep breath. “I asked the uncles to bring Benny back, you know.”

Sam’s head snaps up, and for the first time since he arrived, he gives Dean his full attention. “What?”

Dean nods. “The day he died. I stumbled in here, already half-drunk and rattled by grief. I knew about the spell, knew you needed more than one person to work it, and I asked them to help me bring him back.”

He remembers the matching looks of pity and regret on Bobby and Rufus’ faces when they told him no. When they told him that was one spell they would never, ever perform. They hadn’t worked it when their own wives died, and they wouldn’t now.

“The spell….it’s bad, Sam. Yes, it can bring a person back from the dead, but it isn’t them, not really. It’s a twisted, evil version of them. It wouldn’t have been Benny that came back to me, just like it won’t be Ruby that comes back to you.”

“I don’t care,” Sam says, his voice hollow. “I don’t care what she comes back like, I just need her to come back.”

Every instinct in Dean screams at him to comfort, to protect, to take away the cause of Sam’s pain. It hurts him to see his brother like this, but he has to be strong, for both of them. 

“I know it’s hard right now,” he continues, keeping his voice gentle, “but with time, you’ll see it’s the right thing to do.”

Sam’s mouth twists into an unpleasant shape. “Why? Because you did? Great. You weren’t strong enough to bring Benny back. You were too scared. But I’m not you, Dean.”

His words pierce deep into Dean, tugging at all the guilt he’s felt over the past few years, wondering if he did make the right choice in leaving Benny at rest. He knows Sam is lashing out in his grief and his anger, but it’s the harshest he’s ever been with Dean. 

As Dean struggles to find some way to reply, Sam starts busying himself in the kitchen, opening cupboards and collecting ingredients, adrenaline lending speed to his movements. It’s this process that finally snaps Dean out of his silence.

“What are you doing,” he protests weakly. “Sam, you can’t do this spell.”

“I can, and I will.” Sam’s eyes are hard and determined. 

“The spell isn’t designed to be worked by one person alone,” Dean reminds him. “If it drains too much of your power, it will kill you, Sam.”

“I don’t care,” Sam repeats. “I’m still going to try. So you can either help me, or you can stand back and let me do this.”

Dean’s hands clench uselessly at his sides. He can’t let Sam risk his own life. He knows it’s a bad idea, he knows it will go horribly wrong, but if he doesn’t help Sam do this, Sam could die. 

And if Sam dies...well, then Dean will most likely be working this spell himself, trying to bring him back.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, and goes to get the book. 

They work well together, he and Sam. They always have. They barely need to speak as they prepare the spell, moving around each other with the ease of long familiarity. When everything is ready, Dean looks over the table and meets Sam’s eyes. This is their last chance to turn back.

Sam nods grimly and begins to chant. 

As he repeats the incantation, Dean traces a line of white chalk over the centre of Ruby’s forehead, flinching slightly as his fingers brush across her cold skin. He joins in with Sam, their hands outstretched over Ruby’s still form, voices rising in both strength and volume as they repeat the words over and over again. 

They’re so absorbed in the spell, in the magic Dean can feel flowing through his body, that they almost miss the moment Ruby’s eyes snap open.

Dean never saw them until now, but he’s pretty sure they aren’t supposed to be black. 

He stumbles back from the table as Ruby blinks a few times, then licks her lips to moisten them. Those eerie, empty black eyes pass curiously over Dean’s face as she takes in the room around her, and then settle on Sam, who’s staring down at her with a mixture of shock and relief in his expression.

“Hey, Sam,” she drawls, her voice low and throaty. “Good to see you again.”

Sam swallows nervously, and Dean can see the way his hands twitch like he wants to reach out to her, but decides against it. “Ruby?” he says tentatively. 

“Back and better than ever.” Ruby climbs gracefully to her feet, and as tiny as she is, there’s something incredibly menacing in the way she moves. “Guess I have you to thank for that, huh.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, nodding. “I’m so sorry, Ruby. It was my fault, and I never should have--”

“Shh,” Ruby says, moving forward until she’s pressed right against Sam. “It’s okay, Sam.” She reaches up to embrace him, and with a gasping sob, Sam enfolds her in his arms.

Dean lets out a shaky breath as he watches the scene unfold. Maybe...maybe this is going to be okay. There’s definitely something off about Ruby, but Sam seems so relieved, and maybe Bobby and Rufus were wrong about the spell. It makes Dean wonder what would have happened if he had tried it on Benny, but it’s too late for him now. At least Sam still has a chance to be happy.

He can’t hear what Ruby is murmuring as she leans forward in Sam’s arms, trying not to eavesdrop on their reunion. But all of a sudden, he hears a sharp gasp from Sam, and Dean looks up to see that Ruby’s hands are locked around Sam’s throat, a sharp smile on her face as she chokes the breath out of him.

Sam is trying to fight her off, and it should be easy for him, considering the size difference between them, but Ruby must have gained some sort of super strength along with the black eyes, because he can’t free himself from her crushing embrace. Dean launches himself forward and tries to tug Ruby away, but she just laughs as Sam starts to weaken in her grip.

He never should have let his guard down. He should never have helped Sam do this. It was all to keep Sam from hurting himself, and now look where they are. 

Dean won’t give up, though. He grabs Ruby’s hands where they’re locked around Sam’s throat and tries to force them away, using his superior size to insert himself between the two of them. Ruby snarls at him, a vicious, animal sound that sends chills down Dean’s spine, but he doesn’t back away. 

He needs to surprise her, somehow. Catch her off her guard. So Dean goes on the offensive, slamming his elbow directly into her stomach.

It works, and she stumbles back, her hands dropping from Sam’s throat as she clutches at her torso, sending Dean a hate-filled gaze. Sam wheezes and gasps for air as Dean and Ruby circle each other warily, and then she comes at him with inhuman speed.

They grapple with each other, Dean flinching away from the sight of her night-black eyes, reminding him that they did this. They turned her into this _thing_. Dishes clatter to the floor as Ruby presses Dean back against the counter, a look of triumph passing over her pale face, but Dean still has a few tricks up his sleeve. He kicks out, directly at her knee, and he pushes her away from him as she buckles.

Her head catches the edge of the table as she falls, and when she hits the ground, she doesn’t get back up.

Dean hardly spares a thought for her as he scrambles back towards Sam and helps him sit up. Sam’s breathing a bit easier now, the colour returning to his face as he stares at Ruby’s still form. “Is she…” he manages, and he sounds like he doesn’t know what he wants the answer to be.

Dean approaches Ruby warily, but she doesn’t move as he crouches down beside her, pressing his fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. He finds none. 

He looks back at Sam and shakes his head.

“What was that? That wasn’t Ruby,” Sam says, eyes still wide and horrified.

If things hadn’t been so dire mere minutes ago, Dean would probably say “I told you so.” But instead, he just slides to the ground beside Sam, suddenly exhausted. “A twisted, evil version of her. Just like Bobby and Rufus said the spell would summon.”

“What do we do now?” Sam’s voice is so small, so hesitant, that Dean reaches out and wraps an arm around him just like he used to do when they were kids, letting Sam draw comfort from his touch.

“I have no idea,” he admits.

***

They bury Ruby’s body in the yard.

Dean thinks they should have gone to the police, admitted that Sam had tried to take Ruby to the hospital himself in his grief and panic, but Sam insisted they keep things quiet. He doesn’t want the authorities involved, thinks they’ll ask too many questions. Dean knows they can’t keep Ruby’s death secret for long-- eventually, someone will start asking questions, and those questions will likely lead back to Sam. 

Sam says they’ll deal with it as it happens, and Dean is too on edge to argue anymore. They made a mistake, an enormous one, and he’s certain the consequences will extend far past this night. 

When he finally crawls back into bed just as the sun is starting to come up, Dean dreams of black eyes and a familiar voice chuckling in his ear.


	4. Chapter 4

His sleep is restless, but it’s still late morning by the time Dean feels ready to pull himself out of bed and face the day. He’s glad he doesn’t have to go to work, to smile and pretend everything is fine. 

The kitchen is clean and tidy, almost suspiciously so. They’ll have to make it look more lived-in before Bobby and Rufus return. Sam is already there, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in his hand, studiously avoiding the table. Dean nods at him and fills his own mug, eyeing his brother with concern as he takes his first sip.

Sam looks awful. His hair is lank and greasy, his eyes are bloodshot, and there’s an emptiness in his expression that chills Dean to the bone. It’s grief and guilt and raw pain all mixed up together, and it’s so naked on Sam’s face that Dean flinches away from the sight.

“What are we going to tell Bobby and Rufus?” he asks, breaking the silence. He doesn’t want to push Sam, but they need to talk about this while they still can.

The question seems to galvanize Sam, who looks up at him and shrugs. “Nothing,” he says simply. “It’s done.”

Dean isn’t so sure that’s true, but it still isn’t enough of a solution. “They’re going to know something’s up when you’re here out of the blue,” he points out. “You haven’t exactly been making a lot of trips up here recently.”

He tries to keep the bitterness out of his tone, and he thinks he’s successful. This isn’t the time to get snippy about Sam’s long absences from home. 

“So we tell them that’s exactly why I’m here. It’s been too long.”

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” Dean warns. “They’re pretty smart for a couple of crotchety old guys.”

“I don’t care. I’m going back to bed.” Sam sets his mug down with a thud, and Dean flinches at the sudden noise. He tries to say something else, but Sam is already heading up the stairs. 

Dean groans, his head falling back to rest on the cupboard behind him. He can’t exactly blame Sam for being terse, but it’s still frustrating. Dean just wants to help him, like always. 

He ignores the little voice that says he tried to help the night before, and look where that got them.

***

Sam’s little nap must have worked a miracle for him, because the minute Bobby and Rufus walk through the front door, arguing about something or other, he’s bounding down the stairs to greet them, a huge smile on his face. Dean watches in confusion as Sam hugs them both, grabs their bags, chatters away about the cabin in Montana and his best memories of the place.

It’s like last night never even happened. Dean’s never been so impressed with his brother’s ability to lie. Maybe he should have gone into acting instead of writing.

“Why didn’t you tell us Sam was home?” Rufus asks Dean with a glare. “We would have come back sooner.”

“Wanted to surprise you,” Dean replies weakly, catching his brother’s warning glance. He swallows nervously and tries to match Sam’s enthusiasm. “Surprised me too, so it only seemed fair.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we caught a lot of fish, then,” Bobby says, clapping Sam on the back. “Have you told Ellen and Jo you’re here?”

“Not yet,” Sam says easily. “Wanted you two to know first.”

“Go call them, then,” Bobby instructs, “and tell them to get over here.”

Sam grins and pulls out his phone, and after a few brief sentences, hangs up. “They’re on their way.”

This is a terrible idea, Dean thinks distantly as Bobby presses a beer into his hand. Getting everyone together, and with a family as nosy as theirs...somehow, Sam is going to slip up. He’s going to crack, and they’re going to realize something is wrong, and the truth will all come spilling out.

But it doesn’t.

Jo and Ellen arrive in a flurry of hugs and fond admonishments, beers are passed around, the freshly-caught fish is cooked and eaten with effusive praise. Dean is on edge the entire time, and he’s sure his laughter must ring brittle and false in his family’s ears, but miraculously, no one seems to notice, too swept up in Sam’s stories about his latest adventures. 

He doesn’t get a chance to talk to Sam alone until after the dishes have been cleared away and Ellen brings out a bottle of whiskey she had stashed in her purse. Dean excuses himself to use the bathroom, and catches Sam’s eyes as he stands. They meet at the top of the stairs, keeping their voices low though there’s little chance of them being overheard above the loud music and raucous conversation.

“How long are you going to keep this up?” Dean asks, folding his arms across his chest.

“As long as I need to,” Sam replies coldly. “This little meeting is kind of counterproductive, though, if we’re trying to _not_ make them suspicious.”

“I know,” Dean says, letting out a deep breath. “I’m just...worried, okay?”

“It’ll be fine,” Sam says firmly. “Trust me.”

Where this confidence is coming from, Dean has no idea. He wishes he could find some for himself. But the feeling of dread is still writhing under his skin like a living thing, poisoning his mind with doubt.

Before he can say anything else, they’re interrupted by Jo, who passes them on her way to the bathroom with a curious look on her face. “Are we plotting something?” she asks with interest. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

“No, no plotting,” Dean says. “Just talking.”

“Cool. Stop hogging your brother. We all missed him, you know.” 

Sam laughs and tugs on Jo’s hair, earning him a kick to the shin that he easily dodges. Dean watches them with a heavy heart, then pulls himself back together. If Sam can do this-- can smile and laugh and pretend everything is fine-- even after watching his girlfriend die (twice), then Dean can too.

***

It goes on for five more days: five days of Sam acting like nothing is wrong, five days of Dean tensely waiting for him to snap, five days of Dean wanting to talk to his brother about what happened but never having the chance. Sam is always moving, always talking to someone else, always going into town when Dean’s at home or staying home when Dean’s at work, like he can make what happened disappear if he refuses to acknowledge it for long enough.

If only it worked that way.

On Friday morning, a week after Ruby’s death, there’s a knock at the door as Dean sits at the table with his coffee and toast. He frowns, checking the time on his phone. Sam is still asleep-- he’s been sleeping a lot this past week, another reason for Dean to worry-- and Bobby and Rufus are already at work in the garage. 

Warily, Dean stands and peers out the window, but he can only make out the side of a torso, nothing to identify the person on the other side. He’s used to people dropping by the house at odd hours, seeking magical assistance, but they tend to come under cover of darkness, not at eight o’clock in the morning.

Dean runs a hand through his hair and pulls the door open. The man standing on the other side turns at the sound, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat.

Partially because he’s stunning, and partially because he’s a police officer.

“Good morning,” the officer says in a deep voice, a voice that sounds so familiar to Dean though he knows he’s never met this man before. “Are you Sam Winchester?”

Only half-paying attention to the officer’s words, Dean starts to nod before he realizes what the question was. “Yeah-- oh, sorry, no. I’m Dean. Dean Winchester. Sam is my brother.” He’s tripping over his words, speaking too quickly, but something about the man’s piercing gaze is profoundly unnerving. 

“Ah.” The officer extends a hand, and Dean takes it. His palm is warm and slightly calloused and fits perfectly into Dean’s. “Officer Novak. Is your brother here, by chance?”

Dean manages to let go of Officer Novak’s hand within an appropriate amount of time. “Uh, yeah,” he stammers. “He’s asleep, though. If you want to come in, I can go wake him?”

“Thank you,” Novak says, stepping through the door, eyes roving over the interior of the house. 

“Coffee?” Dean offers, leading him into the kitchen. Novak declines politely, and Dean hesitates for a second, then flees upstairs to wake Sam.

He knocks on Sam’s door firmly, trying not to let his panic overtake him. Sam grumbles something from inside, and Dean enters the room and closes the door behind him. “Wake up,” he hisses. “Sam, you gotta wake up.”

“What’s going on?” There’s no trace of the smile Sam has worn for the past week on his face now. He looks exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Dean spares a second to note this with alarm, then returns to the matter at hand.

“There’s a police officer downstairs looking for you,” he says briefly. 

For a second, Sam just stares at him, then he scrambles out of bed and starts pulling on the jeans crumpled on the floor beside his bed. Deans opens the dresser and tosses him a clean black t-shirt. 

“What did they say?” Sam asks in a low voice, pulling the shirt over his head. 

“Not much,” Dean replies. “Just asked for you. But it has to be about Ruby.”

Sam flinches at the sound of her name, and Dean realizes it’s the first time either of them has said it out loud since that night. He wishes there was time to apologize, but there isn’t. 

“Okay,” Sam says, taking a deep breath. “Okay. I haven’t seen Ruby in a few weeks. We were never serious. I don’t know what happened to her, and neither do you. We keep it simple.”

“Sam, we can’t--”

“Yes we can,” Sam says firmly. “We can do this, Dean.” He squares his shoulders and opens the door, heading downstairs with determination. Dean follows a few steps behind, his manner far less confident.

He steps back into the kitchen just as Officer Novak is rising to his feet to greet Sam, whose charming smile is back in place. “Sam Winchester,” he says. “Sorry, I’m not much of a morning person.”

Oh, great, Dean thinks sourly. The lies are starting already. Before this week, Sam was the very definition of a morning person, getting up early to make healthy breakfasts and go running. 

Officer Novak introduces himself, then gestures to Sam to take a seat. Dean remains where he is, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, watching warily. 

“I’m guessing this is all very unexpected,” Office Novak says with a small smile. So far, he doesn’t seem particularly threatening, or particularly suspicious, but Dean still can’t relax. “I had a few questions for you, Sam, with regard to your girlfriend, Ruby Lockhart.”

“Not my girlfriend,” Sam says, somehow managing not to sound like an asshole about it. “We were never really official.”

Officer Novak looks slightly surprised, frowning down at the file he has open on the kitchen table. “And yet all of her co-workers have identified you as such,” he says, and now the suspicion is starting to creep into his tone.

Sam just shrugs. “Sure, we dated. On and off for a few years. I travel a lot for work, though, Officer, and I wasn’t going to ask her to commit to a long-distance relationship.”

“And you weren’t willing to settle down?” Novak asks, his eyes sharp. 

“I love my job,” Sam replies. 

Dean’s pretty sure this callous approach isn’t going to endear them to Officer Novak, but Sam seems to know what he’s doing.

Officer Novak nods and scribbles something down in his notes. Dean cranes his neck to try to see, but instead just attracts his attention. Dean flushes and settles back into his casual pose, ignoring the racing of his heart. God, what is wrong with him? 

“Moving on. When was the last time you saw Ms. Lockhart?”

Sam thinks about it for a second before replying. “Two weeks ago,” he says eventually.

“And you didn’t have plans to meet again in the near future?”

“No,” Sam says. “I usually just texted her if I would be nearby, and that hadn’t happened. Besides, I knew I was coming here for a visit.”

“Dean,” Officer Novak says, turning to look at him. Dean is startled not only by the shift in the officer’s attention but by the way his voice sounds saying Dean’s name. It sounds better suited to a moment of intimacy than to an interrogation. Dean pushes aside that thought and tries to keep his face and voice neutral as he replies.

“Yes?”

“Before today, when was the last time you saw Sam?”

Sam’s eyes go wide like he’s trying to communicate something to Dean, but for the first time in their lives, Dean can’t interpret his brother’s message. So he just tells the truth. “Not quite two years ago,” he replies, then pauses. “After my husband died.”

He has no idea why he volunteered that information. Maybe some part of him hoped to catch Novak off-guard with the open admission of his sexuality, or to provoke some sort of pity in him at the mention of his loss. 

Novak does look slightly puzzled, but he nods briefly and scribbles something down in his notebook. Dean wishes he could see what it says, but the angle isn’t right, and Novak’s handwriting, from what he can tell, is atrocious.

After a brief moment of tense silence, he turns back to Sam. “If you haven’t visited in almost two years, why now?”

“Am I not allowed to miss my family?” Sam laughs, but there’s a sharp edge to his voice that Dean doesn’t like. 

“Of course,” Officer Novak replies. “I’m just wondering about the timing.”

“Why?” Sam asks, frowning. “I’m still not sure why you’re here, Officer.”

Officer Novak levels a long stare in his direction. “Because Ruby Lockhart is missing.”

Dean closes his eyes tightly. This is the moment he’s been dreading. 

“What?” Sam’s shock certainly sounds genuine, Dean will give him that. “Is she--”

“We don’t know,” Novak says, shaking his head. “Her car was found abandoned at the side of the road, clearly having been involved in a crash. But there was only a small amount of blood found at the scene, and no body.”

“God,” Sam says. His face is pale again. “I haven’t heard anything, I was just enjoying my week here, and this whole time--” He stops for a second, then a look of horror crosses his face. “You think I had something to do with it? That’s why you’re here?”

There’s a long, weighty silence before Officer Novak slowly nods. “You understand our concerns, of course,” he says. “When a young woman goes missing…”

“I would never hurt her,” Sam protests, and it’s the most truthful thing he’s said this entire time. “God, I mean, I know it’s your job to ask questions, but Officer, believe me. Please.”

Officer Novak continues to look at Sam, then his eyes flick over to Dean for a second, assessing. Dean straightens up under his gaze and tries to keep his expression neutral. 

After another tense silence, Officer Novak stands, placing a small card on the table in front of him. “I’d advise you not to leave town,” he says, and though his voice is still pleasant enough, there’s steel running through his words. “If you can think of anything that might help us locate Ms. Lockhart, please contact me immediately.”

Sam nods and picks up the card with shaking fingers. Dean swallows nervously and walks Officer Novak to the door, fighting back all the words that want to leap from his mouth. 

_We didn’t mean to. It wasn’t Sam’s fault. It was an accident._

Thankfully, he manages to keep quiet.

“Have a good day, Dean,” Officer Novak says as he pulls the door open, the barest hint of a smile on his face. 

“You too,” Dean manages, struck by the way Novak’s entire face changes with just that little upward quirk of his mouth. 

And then he’s gone.

Dean turns to look back at his brother, who’s still clenching Officer Novak’s card in one hand, his eyes distant and unfocused. 

“Sam?” he says tentatively.

“He can’t prove anything,” Sam says. “Right?”

Dean doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how much Officer Novak believed, whether he thinks Sam is lying, whether he knows Sam and Ruby’s relationship was more serious than Sam led him to believe. 

But he does know one thing, and it’s going to be a problem for them.

“I don’t think I can lie to him, Sam.”


	5. Chapter 5

They have to act normal. They have to go about their day like nothing is wrong, like they have nothing to hide. Which means Dean has to rush to work, apologizing to Charlie as he bursts through the doors of Oak and Honeysuckle. He’s never late. 

“Hey,” she says, giving him a curious look. “Where’s the fire?”

Dean sighs and accepts the cup of tea she passes over to him. “No fire,” he replies, “just stuff with Sam, you know.”

Charlie nods. “Lost track of time, huh.” She doesn’t ask any further questions, for which Dean is immensely grateful.

“Exactly.” Dean takes a sip of his tea. Chamomile. Perfect. Hopefully it will help settle his frazzled nerves. “What’s on the agenda for the day?”

Consulting a spreadsheet on her computer, she says, “We need more of the almond hand cream, if you want to go mix up a batch.”

“You got it.” It’s a relief to have a task that won’t involve talking to customers and will keep his hands busy. He leaves Charlie to handle the storefront and makes his way into the prep area in the back, where they blend their teas, prepare their products, and arrange gift baskets. It’s always been soothing, using some of the knowledge he learned from Bobby and Rufus in a safe, commercially-friendly way. 

He turns on the stereo but keeps the volume low so he can hear Charlie if she yells out for his help, then loses himself in the familiar rhythms of his work. 

It would have been nice to have a chance to talk to Sam again before coming in today. Dean didn’t like the way his brother looked after Officer Novak left, but they can’t allow themselves to do anything that would rouse suspicion. He’ll have to corner Sam tonight, and they’ll talk whether he wants to or not. They can’t smile and pretend everything is fine, not anymore. 

Dean mostly ignores the light sound of conversation he can hear from the front of the store, knowing Charlie won’t be shy about letting him know if she needs his help. After about an hour, however, he hears a voice that makes him freeze in the middle of filling a new bottle with hand cream, almost dropping the entire batch to the ground. 

He heard that voice for the first time only this morning, but Dean instinctively knows he’ll recognize it for the rest of his life.

Wiping his trembling hands on a rag, he takes a deep breath and tries to control his heartbeat as he wanders back out to the front. He widens his eyes, pretending to be surprised when he sees Officer Novak standing there talking to Charlie.

“Oh,” he says. “Hello again, Officer.”

Those blue eyes flick over to him briefly. “Hello, Dean.” 

“Officer Novak was just asking me about you,” Charlie says, and there’s a definite note of nervousness in her voice as she glances at Dean. 

He reaches out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, as much for himself as it is for her. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, right, Officer?” he says.

Novak nods slowly. “Of course. Miss Bradbury, it’s just a few routine questions about your relationship with the Winchester family. You’ve done nothing wrong, I assure you.”

Charlie, bless her heart, folds her arms stubbornly across her chest and raises an eyebrow at Novak. Under other circumstances, Dean would probably be amused at the sight of her staring him down like a mother bear ready to defend her cubs. 

“I’m not saying anything until you tell you me why you want to know,” she says firmly.

Thankfully, Officer Novak looks more charmed than offended by her stubbornness. “Very well,” he says. He opens his file and produces a photo of Ruby, and Dean does his best not to flinch at the sight. “This is Ruby Lockhart, and she’s missing. She was, according to our information, involved with Sam Winchester, who I believe you may know.”

Charlie’s eyes widen as she takes in the implications of Novak’s words. “And you think Sam--”

“That’s why I’m talking to you,” Novak replies smoothly. “I’d prefer if we could speak in private, however.” He sends a meaningful look in Dean’s direction, and Dean immediately nods. He’s not worried about anything Charlie would say.

“Go on back to the office,” he tells her. “I’ll hang out here.”

He watches as Charlie leads Officer Novak into their small office, casting a nervous look back at Dean over her shoulder as she goes. 

Fortunately, a steady stream of regular customers keep Dean busy filling orders and ringing up purchases while Charlie and Novak are sequestered away in the office. After about twenty minutes, they re-emerge, and Dean immediately notes Charlie’s relaxed posture and easy smile. Even Novak looks friendlier and more approachable than usual, which Dean hopes is a good sign. 

Charlie smiles reassuringly at Dean as she slides back behind the counter, smoothly elbowing him out of the way to speak to the customer in front of them. “Go back to your hand cream,” she murmurs. “I’ve got this.”

Dean drops a fond and grateful kiss on the top of her head, sparing a glance at Officer Novak, who’s looking around the store with interest, before returning to the prep area and letting loose a shaky sigh. 

This isn’t going to end with he and Sam. Their mess will affect everyone who knows them, everyone they care about, and Dean desperately wishes he knew what to do, how to fix this.

Someone clears their throat behind him, and Dean turns, expecting to have to explain to yet another customer that this area is off-limits. But it’s Officer Novak standing there, one dark eyebrow arched as he takes in the ingredients scattered over the counter and the look of surprise on Dean’s face.

“I apologize for interrupting you,” he says smoothly. “I just had a few follow-up questions.”

“Uh, yeah, no problem,” Dean says, giving Novak his full attention. “How can I help you, Officer?”

Novak doesn’t immediately reply, instead wandering around the room, examining the various jars and containers with interest. “You’ve owned this business for just over a year now?”

“That’s right,” Dean says warily, not entirely sure how that’s relevant. 

“And you and Miss Bradbury…”

It’s not an actual question, but his meaning is clear. “We’re friends,” Dean says firmly. “She left town after high school, then when she moved back, she approached me about going into business together. I needed a new job, so the timing worked out well.”

“She’s very defensive of you, you know,” Novak comments. 

This doesn’t surprise Dean at all. “Like I said, we’re friends. Good friends.”

“Why did you need a new job?” Novak asks. “What were you doing before you and Miss Bradbury opened this store?”

Dean is fairly certain Novak has all this information in his file, but he answers anyway, doing his best to remain cooperative. “I used to work with my uncles and help run a restaurant with my husband. After he passed, I didn’t want to do it alone, so it went to his niece, and I went into business with Charlie.”

Novak nods, apparently satisfied with this answer, and consults his file once more. “Your husband. Benjamin Lafitte, correct?”

It hurts Dean more than he would have guessed, hearing Benny’s name in such dispassionate tones. He closes his eyes briefly and then looks back at Novak, a spark of displeasure lacing his words. “Correct.”

For the first time, Novak’s professional facade cracks slightly. His eyes widen at the emotion in Dean’s voice, and his face softens. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. “I know this must be….difficult, to talk about.”

“Yeah, well, you’d think I would be used to it by now,” Dean replies, his throat tight. 

“Yes.” Novak hesitates. “I’ve noticed...a rather high number of premature deaths in your family history,” he says, sounding rather apologetic about having to mention it at all. 

Well isn’t that the most polite way of saying “everyone your family cares about ends up dead” Dean has ever heard. At least Novak isn’t accusing them of being a family of serial killers with a predilection for murdering their partners. Not yet, anyway. 

He manages to contain his bitter laughter, though. “Yeah, we’re unlucky that way.”

Unlucky, or cursed. But Dean doesn’t think this is the appropriate time to get into the whole family-curse explanation. 

Novak watches him for a few moments, his expression inscrutable. After a weighty silence, he puts his file down on the counter behind him and nods at the bowl beside Dean. “What are you making?”

The sudden change in topic confuses Dean, and it takes him a second to register the question. “What? Oh. Almond hand cream. It’s one of our most popular products.” He beckons Novak closer. “Wanna try some?”

“This is what you do here? Make hand cream?” Novak asks, but he does cross the room and join Dean, inspecting the mixture with the same intensely quizzical expression he wore while interrogating Dean earlier. 

“Among other things, yeah.” 

Novak’s eyes flicker over him briefly. “Forgive me, but you don’t really seem--”

“Like a hand cream kind of guy?” Dean says with a wry smile. “People might surprise you sometimes, Officer. We don’t always fit neatly into your little profiles.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Novak murmurs. 

He can’t explain where his boldness comes from, but Dean scoops up a bit of the mixture and spreads it over the back of Novak’s hand. It’s warm under his touch, and Dean pulls away like he’s been burned, swallowing heavily. “Rub that in a bit,” he instructs. 

“Are you trying to make a customer out of me?” Novak asks, his lips twitching in what might be a grin. 

“Maybe,” Dean replies, his own lips quirking upwards.

What the hell is he doing, flirting with the officer asking questions about him and Sam and Ruby? He knows it’s a terrible decision, but there’s something magnetic about Novak, something that goes beyond his obvious good looks. 

God, Dean’s life is seriously screwed up. 

That doesn’t stop him from watching in fascination as Novak rubs the lotion into his hands. His fingers are long and elegant, and there’s a thin white scar across the outside of his left hand that Dean really wants to ask about, but Novak is supposed to be the one asking questions here. 

“It’s nice,” Novak says, lifting his hand to his face to sniff delicately at it. “I can see why it’s so popular.”

The compliment warms Dean, and he almost forgets why they’re having this conversation. “Here,” he says, scooping a small amount into a round container. “Take this with you.”

Novak hesitates, eyes flickering over Dean’s face like he’s trying to gauge his sincerity, and Dean realizes he’s misstepped. “I’m not trying to bribe you with hand cream,” he says impatiently. “Jesus.”

After another moment’s pause, Novak accepts the container. “Thank you,” he says gravely. “That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s the small-town way,” Dean says with a shrug. And then, feeling bold, he asks, “Hey, speaking of manners, what’s your first name, Officer? I feel like we haven’t been properly introduced yet.”

For a moment, he thinks he’s crossed a line, but then a small smile appears on Novak’s lips. “It’s Cas,” he says. “Officer Cas Novak.”

_Cas_. It suits him. Dean nods, satisfied. “Nice to meet you properly, Cas.”

“Indeed.” The smile slowly drops from Cas’ face, though, as he picks up his file in the hand not holding his jar of hand cream. “I think that’s all the questions I have for now. But as I said earlier--”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dean says before he can finish. Christ, that sounds like an invitation. Maybe it is. Dean doesn’t know anymore.

Cas-- and Dean won’t be able to think of him as anything other than Cas now, even with the uniform and the file and the invasive questions-- politely ignores any of the numerous ways Dean’s reply could be misinterpreted and just nods. “Have a good day, Dean.”

Then he turns and strides away, leaving Dean to collapse against the counter and bury his face in his hands. 

“Dean?” he hears Charlie say, more tentative than normal as she enters the room. Dean looks up and meets her concerned gaze. “Holy shit, Dean, why didn’t you tell me that was why you were late this morning?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to drag you into it, but I guess it’s too late for that now.”

“Yeah, I’ll say!” Charlie exclaims. “God, that poor girl. I told Officer Novak, there’s no way Sam did anything to hurt her, but still. Holy shit. He must be so worried.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean replies absently. 

Charlie frowns at him. “Do you want to go home?” she asks. “I know this must be tough, so if you want to leave, I think I can handle things for the day.”

It’s a tempting offer. Dean would like nothing more than to go home, crawl into bed, sleep for three days and wake up to find this was all a horrible dream. 

“No,” he says with a sigh. “Gotta keep myself busy somehow, you know?” 

“It’ll all work out fine,” Charlie says, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm. “I’m sure of it.”

Dean wishes he could share her positive outlook, but seeing as he’s the one who knows what really happened, he just can’t summon that kind of confidence. “Yeah,” he says, and it sounds forced even to his own ears. “You’re probably right.”

She goes back out to the front of the store, leaving Dean alone once more. The room is too quiet now that there’s no one there with him, so he raises the volume on the stereo, trying to drown out the thoughts running through his mind. 

He should be trying to come up with some sort of plan. Trying to find a way to throw Cas off the scent, send him in another direction, away from Sam and Dean and everyone they care about.

But instead, all he can think about is blue eyes, the scent of almonds, and a deep, rough voice saying his name.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean finishes the rest of his shift despite Charlie’s frequent interruptions to check on him, which are both incredibly touching and mildly irritating. By the time six o’clock rolls around, Dean is itching to leave, and he bolts out of the store after a cursory clean-up, waving goodbye to Charlie as he heads for the Impala. 

The house is quiet when he enters, but he finds Bobby and Rufus sitting silently in their favourite armchairs, matching looks of concern on their lined faces. Dean drops onto the couch with a sigh. 

“So, I guess Sam told you,” he says. 

They both nod, but Rufus is the first to speak. “Saw the police car pulling away, came in to find him sitting at the table with a look I’ve never seen on his face before.”

“That poor girl,” Bobby says. “Going missing like that, never ends happily.”

Dean lets out a shaky sigh. So they only know the official version: Ruby is missing, and Cas is here looking into her disappearance. He’s not surprised that Sam didn’t tell them the truth, but part of him is disappointed. He would be grateful for their support and their guidance right about now. But he isn’t going to be the one to confess to what happened that night. 

He glances around, but sees no sign of his brother. “Where is Sam?” He hopes he hasn’t been taken in for further questioning. 

Bobby nods in the direction of the stairs. “Figured we’d give him his space.”

“It’s all we can do right now,” Rufus says, not sounding entirely pleased with the notion.

It is a strange situation for them, Dean thinks. They’re well-accustomed to grief, whether their own or that of the people closest to them, but this case is lacking that finality, at least from their perspective. They’re the kind of men who work best with a set of specific circumstances, not these unknowns and hypotheticals. It must be difficult for them, knowing Sam is hurting but not knowing how to help because they can’t be certain of the exact situation.

Dean knows, though. He’s the one who knows everything. So he stands and heads up the stairs, determined to finally talk to Sam about it all.

He half expects Sam to be asleep, or curled up in his bed ignoring the world, but what he finds is almost worse. Sam is sitting in the corner of the room, back against the wall, his hands curled loosely around his knees and a vacant expression on his face.

He looks like he hasn’t moved for hours.

“Sam?” Dean enters the room and closes the door behind him, crossing the floor slowly so as not to startle him. He lowers himself to the ground beside his brother, who still hasn’t even looked up or acknowledged his presence.

“We’re going to have to talk about this eventually,” he says after a moment. “Cas-- Officer Novak came by the store this morning. Wanted to talk to Charlie. About you, about us. And he’s not going to stop there.”

Sam slowly turns his head to face Dean, a slight frown crossing his face. “Why would Charlie know anything?”

“She doesn’t,” Dean assures him. “I guess he was just checking into your background? Character profile, whatever.”

“Did he talk to you at all?” Sam asks.

Dean hesitates before replying. Yes, they definitely talked. How much of it was relevant to the investigation…

“A bit,” he says. “I don’t know, Sam. He doesn’t seem like he’s already convinced you’re guilty and just trying to prove it, but I don’t think he’s the type to be satisfied with declarations of innocence either.”

Sam’s eyes narrow, and he gives Dean an incredulous look. “You like him,” he accuses. “Jesus, Dean. Is this what you meant when you said you couldn’t lie to him?”

One of the few problems of having such a close relationship is being unable to hide things from his brother. Heat rises in Dean’s cheeks, but he knows there’s no point in denying it. 

“I don’t know,” he mumbles. “There’s just something about him…”

Sam just starts to laugh. It’s harsh and humourless and hollow, and Dean flinches away from the sound. 

“Great,” Sam mutters. “That’s just fucking great. Ruby is dead, twice over, and you’ve got a thing for the guy investigating her disappearance.”

“Can we focus on the first part of that statement, please,” Dean says tightly. 

“Why?” Sam asks, his voice turning dull once more. “There’s nothing we can do about it. We already tried to fix it, and we just made it worse.”

Dean barely refrains from pointing out that it was Sam’s idea to try to bring her back in the first place. 

“I had to watch her die twice, Dean,” Sam says, the words catching in his throat. He sounds completely and utterly broken. “Twice.”

Any lingering anger Dean feels over Sam’s casual attitude toward their situation vanishes with those words. Sam has been so convincing the past week, pretending nothing was wrong, that Dean started to forget that he had just lost someone. 

He stretches out his arm and wraps it around Sam’s shoulder. Sam stiffens, and for a second Dean thinks he’s going to push him away, but then Sam just crumples, collapsing against Dean’s side as he begins to cry.

It’s probably the first time he’s allowed the tears to fall since it all happened. Dean closes his eyes against the thought, remembering his own grief after Benny’s death. He never wanted this for Sam. He hoped he would never have to desperately try to comfort him like this, and yet here they are. 

“Let it all out, little brother,” he murmurs. “Let it all out.”

A shudder runs through Sam’s entire body, and he doesn’t seem to be trying to hold back his sobs. Distantly, Dean wonders if Bobby and Rufus can hear them from downstairs, but hopefully they’ll just assume Sam is consumed with worry rather than with grief.

Eventually, Sam’s tears subside, and he pulls himself away from Dean’s hold, slumping back against the wall behind them. He scrubs a hand over his face and lets out a deep breath. “You know what I was thinking?” he says. His voice is stronger, but it’s still rough from sadness.

“What?” Dean asks carefully.

“We never said it. Never said those three little words.” There’s a tiny, tragic smile on Sam’s lips. “But our family is cursed, Dean. Whoever loves a Winchester is doomed to die. And she died. So what does that mean?”

Dean winces, knowing exactly what Sam is thinking.

“It means she loved me,” Sam says softly. “She died, and now I know. She really did love me.”

Dean doesn’t bother offering any words of consolation. They would only be empty and meaningless. He just waits while Sam takes a few deep breaths, collecting himself. 

“She didn’t have any family left,” he says eventually. “Nobody will be looking for her. Other than Officer Novak. If he can’t find any evidence that Ruby was here…”

So he still wants to pretend nothing happened. Dean doesn’t like it. 

“And what? They just chalk it up to a disappearance? Cold case?”

“Eventually, yeah.”

“Don’t you want to--” Dean pauses, unsure. “I don’t know. If you said you brought her here, made some claim about being overcome with panic and grief, explained that you should have brought her to the hospital, but then it was too late…”

But Sam shakes his head. “Do you really think they’d believe that? If I admit to any involvement, they’ll think I killed her. I don’t want to go to jail, Dean.”

They have friends who are lawyers, people who Sam went to school with. Dean thinks they could have a chance, but he can tell by the look on Sam’s face that he isn’t willing to fight for it. 

“They can’t prove anything,” Sam repeats stubbornly. “Nobody else here saw her that night. Nobody here even met her before. They can’t say anything incriminating.”

“Sure they can,” Dean hisses, throwing his hands in the air. “Sam, are you forgetting how much these people dislike us most of the time?”

“They seem to like you fine,” Sam says dismissively. 

“Yeah, because I’m helpful to them for the moment. They’ve never trusted us, Sam, even when they’re banging on the back door to ask for a spell because they think their wives are cheating on them. If Cas-- if Officer Novak goes around asking questions about you, about us, how long do you think it’s going to take before someone admits that we’re not just mechanics and small-business owners?”

That gives Sam pause. He considers Dean’s words for a second, then shakes his head. “I’m not changing my mind,” he says. “I just want to put this whole thing behind us, okay? As much as I can. I have to live with knowing that I failed her, okay? Isn’t that punishment enough?”

His voice starts to break again on his last words, and Dean softens. He’s probably going to regret this, but he nods slowly. “Alright, Sammy,” he says heavily. “Alright.”

He pulls himself to his feet, then reaches down a hand to help Sam up, the matching scars on the palms of their hands visible even in the last light of the setting sun. 

“I think I’d like to get some sleep now,” Sam says quietly. 

Dean doesn’t particularly want to leave him alone, but he respects Sam’s need for privacy. “Okay. Let me know if--”

“If I need anything,” Sam finishes. “Yeah. I know.”

Dean hovers for another minute, then leaves the room, closing the door gently behind him. He wanders back down to the living room, where Bobby and Rufus don’t even try to pretend they haven’t been waiting anxiously for an update.

Their predictability almost makes him smile. “How is he?” Rufus asks.

“Not great,” Dean admits, “but what do you expect?”

His uncles exchange long looks, an entire conversation passing between them. Dean’s used to it by now, so he just wanders into the kitchen and brings them each back a beer. He doesn’t grab one for himself, though. He doesn’t want a drink, he just wants sleep. Something on the table catches his eye, and he slips it into his pocket before returning to the living room.

“You take care of him,” Bobby says eventually. 

Dean snorts. “Yeah, Bobby, of course.”

Rufus shakes his head. “It’s only going to get worse,” he warns. “You’re going to have to be strong, Dean. For both of you.”

Dean stops and turns back to face them. They can’t possibly know-- but they both have the same grim expression on their faces. Dean’s been around this house, around them and their abilities, for long enough to trust them when they make that kind of statement.

“I will,” he promises. “But not tonight.”

With a little wave as they offer murmured goodnights, Dean wearily climbs back up the stairs to his room and collapses onto his bed, exhausted. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the card with Cas’ contact information on it, noting that it only refers to him as C. Novak. 

He could call him right now. Call him and confess everything. How Ruby died the first time, how they brought her back, how she died the second time. Dean traces over the words and the number inscribed on the card. Cas seems like a reasonable enough person. Maybe he would accept their story, maybe they could convince him that they only had the best intentions when they worked the spell. 

Dean shakes his head with a bitter laugh. What is he thinking? He knows how most people react to learning that magic is real. Why would Cas be any different? No matter how much Dean wants to trust him, he can’t betray Sam like that. 

He wishes he could just call Cas anyway. Not with the intent of confessing, but just to hear his voice. It surprises Dean how much he longs to hear it again. How much Cas affects him. He hasn’t felt this way in a long, long time. 

But they don’t want Cas to stay. They want him and his questions to disappear and leave them in peace, don’t they?

Dean isn’t so sure anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

The next few days are difficult, to say the least. 

Sam is moody and withdrawn, Bobby and Rufus are quiet and watchful, Charlie is chipper and optimistic, and Dean is just tired. Tired of wondering when it’s all going to come crashing down around them, tired of feeling like he’s barely hanging on, tired of not knowing how to even feel about everything that has happened.

Maybe it’s just paranoia, but the streets of Sioux Falls feel unfriendly in a way they haven’t since before Dean married Benny. People seem to hurry past when they see him, and the smiles he receives from customers at the store are strained, like they’re trying to pretend everything is normal and failing miserably.

It’s not entirely surprising. Word travels fast in this town, and the Winchesters have always been a favoured subject of gossip. Sam’s reappearance after so many years away led to whispers of one sort, but now that the news about his girlfriend being missing has spread, interest has turned to suspicion. 

Dean hates it. 

It reaches a tipping point when one of their long-standing customers abruptly cancels her order for the month and informs them she won’t be visiting the store any longer. Charlie takes the call, and Dean watches as her face falls, frantically trying to maintain Mrs. Case’s business. Her efforts are in vain, and she hangs up the phone with a dejected look on her face.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Dean says. It’s unfair. This store is Charlie’s as much as it’s his, and she shouldn’t have to suffer for his family’s reputation. 

“We don’t need her anyways,” Charlie insists, though her lip trembles slightly. “Watch her come crawling back when her eczema gets bad again.”

Dean closes his eyes, fighting back the surge of anger in his chest. “You want to go home?” he asks. It’s almost six anyway, and they probably won’t have many more people coming in at this point. Especially if all their regular customers are abandoning them. 

Charlie shakes her head stubbornly, though she does allow Dean to make her a cup of tea and send her into the back to do prep for the next day so she doesn’t have to put on a brave face for his benefit. 

Dean contents himself with shredding all of Mrs. Case’s order forms into tiny, even pieces. It’s strangely satisfying.

They close up the store, and Charlie waves a glum goodnight as she walks away towards her apartment. Dean watches her go, then turns to his car, pausing with his hand on the door. He has very little desire to go home. To tiptoe around Sam, to watch his words in front of Rufus and Bobby. 

And his anger is still simmering under his skin, making him feel restless and reckless. So he turns on his heel and makes the short walk through town towards the Roadhouse. 

Ellen’s bar is always busy, proof that even the most suspicious townsfolk will forgive her for the crime of being a Winchester so long as she runs a good drinking establishment. It helps that the bar was Bill’s as well, just like the restaurant was Benny’s. It lets people forget who they’re supporting with their patronage. 

Dean grabs a seat at the end of the bar and waits for Jo to notice him. He doesn’t see Ellen bustling about anywhere and assumes she must be in the office. Jo will tell her that he’s here soon enough, and then she’ll come out and interrogate him, he’s sure. 

A few people nod to Dean as they pass him, and it’s strangely comforting to know that this space is still safe, still mostly untainted by suspicion. After a few minutes, Jo appears, her eyes widening as she looks at Dean.

“Haven’t seen you here in awhile,” she comments, filling a pint glass and setting it down before him. “You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks, Jo,” he mumbles, taking a sip of his beer. “Nice to see you too.”

She softens slightly at his words. “That bad, huh,” she asks, lowering her voice.

“Definitely not great.”

She chews at her lower lip for a moment. “I doubt this will make you feel any better, but you should probably know-- that cop was here this afternoon, asking Mom and I questions.”

There’s a strange fluttering sensation in Dean’s chest. He tells himself it’s just nerves, agitated by learning that Cas is still investigating, but he’s lying to himself. 

“I’m not really surprised,” he says eventually. “He was bound to end up here.”

“He seems okay, for a cop,” Jo offers. 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “I guess.”

“You need a burger,” Jo says decisively. “And another beer.”

He can’t argue with that. He just nods his thanks, and is about to take another sip when Ellen suddenly materializes at his side. 

“Hey, honey,” she says, her eyes sympathetic. Dean allows himself to be given a rough embrace, squeezing an arm around her shoulders in return. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too,” he mumbles. “Glad to see the rumour mill hasn’t affected business for you.”

Ellen’s eyes narrow. “Has it for you?” she asks shrewdly.

Dean shrugs awkwardly, and that’s answer enough. Ellen mutters something highly uncomplimentary under her breath, and Dean’s lips twitch in an involuntary grin. It’s always nice when her formidable temper is unleashed on someone other than him. 

“Jo mentioned that the officer came by,” he says, trying to sound casual. 

“Yeah,” Ellen replies. “Handsome fellow. Asked a lot of questions, but he was polite about it.”

Ignoring the comment about Cas’ looks, Dean nods. “That’s good. I wouldn’t want you to be troubled over this.”

“Sweetie, we’re already troubled,” Ellen says. “Anything that worries you or Sam, worries all of us. So don’t add to your own burdens, alright? We’re here to lighten them for you, not make them worse.”

His throat tight, Dean just nods. He wonders if he would still receive the same show of support if Ellen knew the truth about what had happened. 

“Now, I’ve got a bar to run,” she says, “so you just enjoy your food and relax, you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am,” Dean says. 

She drops a quick kiss on his cheek and bustles off, smiling and greeting her regulars along the way. Soon enough, Jo drops off a cheeseburger and fries for him, and he focuses on his food, tuning out the conversations around him. 

The person sitting to his right leaves before Dean finishes his burger, and another ten minutes or so after that, someone new slides onto the stool, their leg brushing against Dean’s as they do. He looks up and meets the startled blue gaze of none other than Officer Novak-- Cas. 

Dean swallows the last bite of his burger and smiles nervously. “Hey,” he says, hoping his voice sounds natural. Cas isn’t in his uniform, so this must not be an official visit. Instead, he’s in dark jeans and a leather jacket, looking unfairly attractive and far more approachable than usual. 

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice clearly registering his surprise. “What are you--” he pauses, then laughs. “I suppose it’s rather obvious what you’re doing here.”

“Better question, what are you doing here?” Dean asks. “The way I hear it, this is your second visit today.”

Cas blinks slowly at him. “Word travels fast around here,” he comments.

“Small town, and family connections, so yeah,” Dean shrugs. 

“Ellen suggested I return in a less official capacity,” Cas says. “I was bored at the motel, so I thought I would take her up on the offer.”

Dean signals to Jo for a refill, and gestures to Cas sitting beside him. Her eyes widen in surprise, and she gives Dean a look that clearly says he has some explaining to do later. 

“Well, I may be biased, but the Roadhouse is the best bar in town,” he says, offering Cas a smile. “Sure you should be sitting beside me here, though?”

He’s a bit afraid Cas will move away at the question, but instead, he just shakes his head. “I’m off duty,” he says briefly, but there’s a whole host of possible interpretations of that statement running through Dean’s head.

“I can tell,” he mutters, eyes sweeping over Cas’ body in its fitted denim and leather. It’s a risky move-- he has no idea how receptive Cas will be to another man flirting with him, let alone one who’s a person of interest in a case he’s working. But that restless feeling is back, and Dean can’t bring himself to care about the consequences right now.

Cas doesn’t look disgusted, or offended, or even dismayed. It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but Dean thinks he might be blushing slightly. He clears his throat roughly and ignores the statement. “How is your brother holding up?” he asks.

Dean frowns. “I thought you were off-duty.”

“My apologies,” Cas says. “I didn’t mean for that to sound so…”

“Cop-like?” Dean suggests with a wry smile.

“It’s a difficult pattern to break, sometimes.” Cas takes a sip of his beer and Dean watches the movement of his throat as he swallows. “I really did just want to know how he’s doing.”

“About what you’d expect,” Dean says smoothly.

“And you?” Cas’ eyes are sharp, assessing, but not accusatory. Maybe even concerned.

“Worried about him, mostly.” It’s not far from the truth, so Dean thinks the lie will be accepted easily enough. “I guess it’s a big brother thing.”

“All my sibling are older than me, so I can’t say I’m familiar with the feeling,” Cas replies. “But I can imagine how they would act in such a situation.”

Dean is not-so-secretly delighted at Cas volunteering personal information about himself. He wants to know everything about him. “Big family?” he asks.

Cas nods. “Three older brothers, plus a sister,” he says. 

“That’s a lot of Novaks,” Dean says with a low whistle. “Are you close?”

“To some more than others, naturally,” Cas replies. “But generally, yes.”

“That’s nice. Family is important.”

“It is,” Cas agrees. “I get the sense it’s one of the most important things to you, Dean.”

“Well, we’ve been through some rough times,” Dean says, taking another sip of his beer. “Really brings you closer together, you know.”

A flicker of sympathy crosses Cas’ face. “Of course,” he murmurs. 

He goes quiet for a few minutes, and Dean just drinks in the sight of him, the strong lines of his jaw and the slight hint of skin revealed at the collar of his jacket. His eyes have gone distant, and Dean wonders what he’s thinking about.

Maybe it’s the low lighting, or the alcohol coursing through his veins, or that softness in Cas’ eyes. Whatever it is, it makes Dean feel bold. “Have you lost anyone?” he asks. 

Cas’ eyes lock onto his. “Not like that,” he says without hesitation. “Family members, friends on the force… it’s a dangerous job. But not--”

Not someone he loved in a romantic sense. Dean idly glances down and notes the absence of a ring on Cas’ finger. It doesn’t mean he isn’t in a relationship, but it’s interesting nevertheless. 

“That’s good,” Dean says, and he means it. He doesn’t like to think about Cas experiencing that kind of loss. 

The conversation trails off for a few minutes before they’re interrupted by Jo placing two shots of whiskey on the bar in front of them with a wink. Dean looks up at her, surprised, and she just wiggles her eyebrows. “Mom’s orders.”

Dean laughs, because of course that’s Ellen’s solution to his worries: more whiskey. “Good old Ellen,” he murmurs. “You joining in, Cas?”

“I shouldn’t,” Cas says, but he wavers, his hand twitching like he wants to reach for the shot glass in front of him. “You probably need it more than me.”

That’s probably true. Dean shrugs and tips the first shot back. “Your loss,” he says. 

The whiskey sings warmly in his veins, and Dean stretches his neck from side to side, feeling his muscles relax and loosen. He notes the way Cas’ eyes track his movements and allows a small smile to cross his face. “Man, I needed that,” he mutters under his breath.

Cas’ face twists slightly at Dean’s words. “I’m sorry to be in any way responsible for your need to drink away your troubles.”

“Not your fault,” Dean assures him. “It’s a crappy situation all around. You’re just doing your job.”

“Mmn,” Cas says noncommittally. “Perhaps.”

“So why’d you become a cop, anyway?” It’s a fairly personal question, but Cas hasn’t seemed bothered by Dean’s casual manner towards him, and Dean is curious. It doesn’t seem like Cas gets high on the power of his job the way so many other police officers do. 

“A number of reasons,” Cas says. At some point, he switched from beer to water, and he takes a sip from his glass now. “I had an uncle who was an officer, and I always admired him. My siblings are all public servants of some sort, but mostly, I just wanted to help people.”

“There’s lots of ways to help people,” Dean points out. “Most of them don’t involve potentially getting shot at.”

Cas smiles at that. “True,” he concedes. “But you could also argue that you could be shot at any job. Your store, for example, might be robbed at gunpoint.”

“I hope not,” Dean mutters. “Seems like it would be awfully inefficient, considering there’s a bank two blocks over.”

“Inefficient indeed,” Cas laughs, then returns to the original question. “I don’t know. There’s a sense of satisfaction, of purpose, in what I do. And I’d been told all my life I have a startling ability to maintain my composure in stressful situations, which has come in very useful, let me tell you.”

Dean doesn’t doubt it. It’s not that Cas is unemotional, or cold, but he seem to have a stillness and a strength about him that Dean finds very appealing. He can see why it would be an asset for someone in his line of work.

He’s about to ask another question, but finds himself yawning instead, so widely he thinks he hears his jaw crack. Cas gives him an amused look and checks the time on his phone. “Time flies,” he says with a little laugh.

“I should probably be heading home,” Dean says regretfully. He wants to stay, but he figures he should check in on Sam, still try to get a reasonable amount of sleep so he can get up and repeat this whole cycle again tomorrow. 

“Are you sure you should be driving?” Cas counters, giving Dean a skeptical look. 

Dean’s about to shrug off his concerns when he remembers who he’s talking to. Cop, driving after drinking, probably not a good combination. He sighs and pulls out his phone. “You’re right,” he says. “I’ll call Bobby to come get me.”

“I can give you a ride,” Cas offers quickly. Then a strange look crosses his face, and he swallows nervously. “If that wouldn’t...make you uncomfortable.”

“Depends,” Dean says slowly. “Is it a friendly ride home, or is it an I’m-keeping-an-eye-on-you, don’t-forget-you’re-under-investigation kind of ride?”

“The former,” Cas answers steadily, holding Dean’s gaze.

“Well, alright then.” Dean stands and waves to Jo, who’s busy at the other end of the bar. “Let’s get out of here.”

“We haven’t paid,” Cas reminds him.

“On the house,” Ellen says, appearing out of nowhere. “You get my nephew home safe, Officer, and we’ll call it even.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Cas replies. “Thank you, Mrs. Harvelle.”

“Ellen,” she says firmly, then turns her attention to Dean. “Tell my brothers to call me, would you? Or I’ll have to drive out there myself, and I know how much they hate that.”

“You got it,” Dean says, accepting the kiss she presses to his forehead. “Bye, Ellen.”

“Your family isn’t what I was expecting,” Cas says as he leads them out towards his car, an unmarked sedan parked a few doors down from the Roadhouse. 

“What were you expecting?” Dean asks, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Based on what a few others in town said…” Cas drums his hands on the steering wheel for a minute, obviously searching for the right words. “I thought you would be a lot stranger.”

“Oh, we’re plenty strange,” Dean laughs. “But so is every family.”

“I suppose that’s true. Every family has their quirks.” Cas drives easily, navigating the streets of Sioux Falls like he was born and raised there. It’s mildly unsettling that Dean doesn’t have to give him directions to his house, but it’s also kind of nice, letting someone else take control for once.

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, Dean occasionally sneaking glances over at Cas, still a bit unclear on how exactly they ended up here. Cas catches him looking, and Dean flushes faintly, but Cas just smiles and looks back to the road. 

The drive is over too quickly for Dean’s liking, and soon enough they’re pulling up in front of the house, one porch light still on against the dark of the night. Cas cuts the engine, but Dean makes no move to get out of the car.

“So, thanks for the ride,” he says eventually.

“Of course,” Cas replies. “Thank you for saving me from another night of awful television in my motel room.”

They share a quiet laugh at that, and god, Cas looks beautiful in the moonlight, his laughter warm and rich. There’s barely any distance between them and Dean wants to reach out, to gently lay his hand on Cas’ cheek, to hear his laughter trail away as his eyes widen and Dean pulls him in for a kiss…

He almost does it. He starts to lean forward, drawn towards Cas like a magnet, but then his foot shifts on a piece of paper in the footwell and the crinkling noise is sharp enough to bring him back to his senses. 

He sits back and prays Cas didn’t notice his little slip. “Well,” he says, coughing awkwardly. “Goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.” If Cas did take note of Dean’s behaviour, he’s polite enough not to acknowledge it. “Sleep well.”

Dean nods once and steps out of the car, cursing himself for his weakness. He lifts a hand in farewell as Cas pulls away, then finally enters the house. 

He doesn’t bother turning on the lights as he makes his way to the kitchen to get a glass of water. God, what was he thinking? It’s one thing to admit that he finds Cas attractive, but to even consider acting on it--

Cas is investigating Sam in connection with Ruby’s disappearance. Dean has no business kissing him or even _thinking_ about kissing him. It would probably only make things worse. Cas takes his job seriously, that much is clear, and if he thought Dean was trying to seduce him to throw him off the case…

And even if he didn’t, even if he wanted Dean to kiss him…

It’s only been two years since Benny died. Dean hasn’t been with anyone this entire time, has never even felt the desire to be close to someone, even for a one night-stand. 

Not until Cas.

He knows Benny would want him to be happy, would be disappointed if Dean closed himself off from love again, but it isn’t just about any lingering feelings of loyalty to his former husband. Dean is still cursed. He has no right to be thinking about getting involved with anyone else, not when it would only lead to more heartbreak. To more death.

No, he’ll have to push these feelings aside. And when Cas is gone, as he hopefully will be soon, things will go back to normal.

He’s just draining the last of his water when he hears a crash from upstairs. Dean manages not to drop the glass as he bolts up the stairs towards Sam’s room, the source of the noise. Rufus’ bedroom door is just opening, but when he sees Dean come flying up the stairs, he just nods, trusting him to handle it.

“Sam?” Dean says, pushing open his door. “Sammy, are you alright?”

Sam is sitting upright in bed, his face pale, and Dean thinks he sees the marks of fresh tears on his cheeks. His gaze is fixed on the corner of the room, and Dean turns to look, but sees nothing there.

Cautiously approaching the bed, Dean sits down beside his brother and lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Bad dreams?” he asks quietly.

Sam shudders under his touch, drawing in a gasping breath. “No,” he murmurs. “She was there, Dean. I swear, I woke up, and she was there, just watching me.”

Dean doesn’t have to ask who he means. It’s pretty damn obvious. “It was just a dream,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry, Sam, but she’s gone.”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Sam insists wildly. “Dean, I’m telling you. Ruby was there.”

“Okay,” Dean says soothingly. There’s no sense in arguing with Sam, not when he’s still practically vibrating with tension. “Well, she’s not there now, okay? So why don’t you go back to sleep.”

“I don’t--” Sam’s words stick in his throat, and he glances nervously between the corner of the room and Dean’s face. 

But Dean hears his unspoken plea. “Yeah, of course,” he says roughly. “Of course I’ll stay.”

He arranges the pillows more comfortably on the bed, and Sam eventually slides back down, tucking the covers over himself. Dean stays perched on the edge of the bed, watchful, and waits until Sam’s breathing has evened out, his chest rising and falling. 

“Night, Sam,” he murmurs, standing. He takes one last look at the dark corner of the room, then shrugs and walks out. 

It was just a dream, he tells himself. He used to dream about Benny all the time after he died-- still does, though not nearly as often as in those early days. 

It was just a dream.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam refuses to talk about it the next day. Whether he’s embarrassed, or whether he just feels better in the light of day, Dean’s not sure, but he still keeps a wary eye on him, just in case. They pass a few days in a similar manner, and though Dean doesn’t hear any more noises from Sam’s room in the middle of the night that would indicate troubled sleep, the bags under his eyes continue to grow and darken. 

Bobby and Rufus scowl and sigh and exchange concerned looks, then spend hours blending the perfect tea to try to help Sam sleep. He accepts their offerings with quiet gratitude, but nothing seems to help. Dean starts to feel guilty for being able to sleep-- he wants to lessen Sam’s burden, and the best way would be to share it, but though his dreams are occasionally dark, he still gets the rest he needs. 

He usually heads off to work without even seeing Sam, and barely has a few hours with him in the evenings when he gets home. It worries him, being apart for so much of the day, but he knows Bobby and Rufus are keeping an eye on him is his absence. Still, it makes the days at work seem endless, always waiting until he can get home and check on Sam himself. 

Charlie tells him he worries too much, but he can see the same worry reflected in her eyes, so it’s difficult to take her advice and try to relax. 

He sees Cas around a few times-- going in and out of other stores on their block, chatting with people on the sidewalk as he passes them. He doesn’t come to talk to Charlie again, for which Dean is grateful, but he wouldn’t mind the chance to have another non-investigatory conversation with him. 

Dean gets his wish towards the end of the week. He’d seen Cas earlier in the day, chatting with a few locals at the coffeeshop across the street when Dean popped in to grab a coffee and a muffin. They had exchanged polite smiles and waves, but Dean didn’t have much time and Cas was clearly busy. 

So he’s a bit surprised when the bell above the shop door jingles merrily late that afternoon and he looks up to see Cas walk in, still wearing his uniform. Official business, then. Dean’s heart sinks slightly at the realization. 

“Hi,” he says casually. “How’s it going?”

“Well enough, thank you,” Cas replies, and yes, he’s definitely in professional mode. Dean hides a sigh and comes around the counter to talk to him. 

“Something I can help you with?” he asks.

Cas keeps his back turned to Dean, idly inspecting the products on the shelves, but Dean is pretty sure he isn’t actually interested in any of them. “I heard something interesting today,” Cas says. “About you. And your family.”

Dean tenses. Cas already knows about all the dead spouses, already knows that they’re considered outsiders by most of the town...but he doesn’t really know _why_. 

Turning back around, Cas fixes Dean with an intense stare. “They said you do magic.”

And there it is. 

Dean sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He wonders who let that particular tidbit of information slip, but in the end, it doesn’t really matter. “Magic, huh,” he says, fighting to keep his voice steady. 

“Indeed.” Cas’ tone doesn’t betray his thoughts on the matter. “One mention, and I would have dismissed it out of hand. But then I asked a few others what they knew about it, and while most of them were understandably cagey on the subject, there were enough knowing glances and half-answers to put the pieces together.”

“And you, do you believe in magic?” Dean wouldn’t guess so. Cas strikes him as the practical type, too focused on dealing with the very real problems his job leads him to encounter to spare a thought for the forces that shape the universe. 

Cas surprises him by smiling softly at the question. “In the sense of dragons and wizards and elves, I certainly used to,” he replies. “But in the way most people here have been talking about it...no, I can’t say that I do.”

Shaking aside images of a younger Cas with his head buried in fantasy novels, Dean shrugs. “It’s not so different.”

“Are you trying to tell me dragons are real?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not as far as I know.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“Did you actually ask a question?” Dean counters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Cas rolls his eyes impatiently. “Dean. Why do people believe you and your family do magic?”

There’s no point denying it now. Cas is already suspicious, and if Dean tries to avoid the topic more than he already has, Cas’ suspicion will only grow. 

“Because we do,” he says. He holds Cas’ gaze, challenging, and is gratified to see a look of surprise cross Cas’ face, like he wasn’t expecting such a bold admission. 

“You do,” Cas repeats. “Right. Well.”

He’s clearly thrown off, and it’s strangely endearing. Dean takes pity on him, though, and continues unprompted. “It’s a family thing, I guess. The books and the lore have been passed down over the years.”

He doesn’t mention the part about the curse. He doesn’t think that’s relevant, at least not yet.

“What kind of magic?” Cas asks, like he can’t believe he’s really having this conversation.

“All kinds,” Dean shrugs. “You know how people know that about us?”

Cas pauses, then frowns and shakes his head.

“Because they come to us for help. For healing spells, for protective spells, for teas to fight off sickness and for charms to attract good fortune.”

“If they come to you for help--”

“Why do they still distrust us so much?” Dean laughs bitterly. “I’ve been wondering that for years.”

“People fear what they don’t understand,” Cas murmurs thoughtfully.

“But they have no problem with it when it benefits them,” Dean says tightly. 

Cas nods, his gaze traveling over the room. “And this?” He waves a hand to indicate the products on the shelves. “Is this magic, too?”

“Of a sort. There’s wisdom that’s been passed down that made its way into these things, sure. And I’m great at measuring herbs by sight, thanks to long practice. There’s magic in most things, Cas, if you want to see it there.”

“I’m not so sure I do,” Cas says quietly. “Dean, you know this all sounds--”

Dean doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t want to hear Cas dismiss something that’s such a fundamental part of his life. He holds up a hand to interrupt him. “You asked,” he says. “I answered.”

Cas takes a step back from the coldness in Dean’s voice. “I didn’t--”

“If you don’t have any more questions, I have things I should be doing,” Dean says. It’s a complete lie. There’s no one else in the store, and Cas is certainly aware of this, but he’s gracious enough not to call Dean on his bullshit.

“I’ll just be going, then,” he says. 

Dean can’t read the expression on his face. There’s something like regret, lingering confusion, and maybe a touch of sadness. 

“That’s probably for the best,” Dean says, looking away.

“Dean.” Cas’ hand lingers on the door as he looks back at Dean. He swallows once before speaking. “That hand cream you gave me...it works very well.”

It’s a peace offering, of sorts. Maybe even an apology. But right now, it’s not enough. “We’re good at what we do,” he answers without looking at Cas.

He hears the door close quietly behind him, and only then does Dean tilt his head back and let out a long sigh. Hadn’t he told Sam this exact thing would happen? He knew it wouldn’t be long before their family’s reputation caught up with them. And sure, Cas hadn’t immediately arrested Dean or gone off to do the same to Sam, but Dean is certain that he’ll only be more suspicious of them from now on. 

He’s also fairly certain Cas will never look at him the same way after this.

***

His sour mood persists through the rest of the day, making him cranky and irritable. Sam barely seems to notice, too lost in his own misery, but Bobby and Rufus just give each other long-suffering glances and don’t ask questions. They know Dean will only talk when he’s ready, and their silent presence is all he needs until then.

After dinner, Bobby invites him to go do some work out in the yard, but Dean doesn’t even feel like taking a swing at a rusted-out shell of car tonight. He waves off Bobby’s offer and retreats to his room with a cup of tea he hopes will soothe his frazzled nerves. He looks at the books on his shelves, Tolkien mixed with Vonnegut mixed with spellbooks, and sighs. He meant what he said to Cas: there is magic everywhere, in everything. It’s no less present in the novels than it is in the spellbooks, and both types have had an enormous influence on Dean’s life.

It’s a piece of him, and Cas’ rejection still stings. 

Dean passes the rest of the evening with his copy of The Last Unicorn, losing himself in the familiar words, until his tea is gone and he has to pause every few minutes to fight back a yawn. He’s not quite done with the book, but he marks his page and sets it down on the bedside table, then changes into his pyjamas and turns off the light. 

He wakes hours later, the room dark, to the sound of music drifting up the stairs. He frowns at first, but soon enough he recognizes the familiar rhythm, and a smile starts to creep across his face. 

Pulling an old hoodie on over his bare chest, he leaves his room and finds Sam emerging from down the hall in a similar outfit. For the first time in many long days, there’s a smile on his brother’s face.

“Shots in the dark,” Sam says. “God, how long has it been?”

“Too long, Sammy,” Dean says fervently as he leads the way down the stairs. “Too long.”

The kitchen is bright, and a familiar rock song spills from the speakers as Sam and Dean enter, laughing. Rufus and Bobby press drinks into their hands, and they all take a moment to raise them in a toast before taking their first sips. 

It’s another Winchester family tradition, started generations ago: surprise late-night kitchen gatherings of alcohol and merriment. Sam and Dean had their first beers under their uncles’ watchful eyes on nights like these. 

Tonight, it’s a perfect reminder that their family may have its issues, may have its burdens, but it’s also their greatest source of strength.

“Figured you wouldn’t be getting much sleep anyways,” Bobby says to Sam with a shrug. 

Sam laughs and takes a long sip from his beer. “True enough,” he agrees. “This is good.”

“You bet it is,” Rufus says, sliding past them to slap a deck of cards on the table. “And it’s about to get even better.”

“Not when I win, old man,” Dean replies, taking his seat with a grin. The four of them are fairly evenly-matched when it comes to poker, and they all know each other well enough to read every blink, every yawn, every scratch of the head. It always makes for an interesting game.

Bobby adjusts the volume on the stereo slightly so they don’t have to yell over it, and the game begins. Dean’s got shitty cards, but he doesn’t even care. He’s just basking in the familiar rhythms of this night, the rituals that they’ve developed for themselves over the years. 

An hour later, Dean’s still losing to everyone except Rufus, whose face is taking on an expression somewhere between bafflement and utter disgust at the cards he keeps drawing. The beer has definitely gone to Dean’s head, but it’s a pleasant buzz, drowning out all the other dark thoughts that have been running through his mind lately. 

“When did you get so good at this?” Rufus asks, glancing suspiciously at the pile of chips in front of Sam. “Way I remember it, it’s been a long time since you won.”

“It’s been a long time since we all played together,” Sam replies easily.

“And whose fault is that, huh,” Bobby says with a raised eyebrow. There’s only a hint of heat in his voice, but it still takes Dean by surprise. Bobby has never once shown any sign of being upset that Sam left, that he found his own path in life. He’s always just been happy to get what time with Sam they can.

Dean looks askance at his uncle, but Bobby barely seems to notice what he said, his attention already back on his cards. Maybe it was just the beer talking, Dean decides.

Sam doesn’t seem to mind, at least. He just grins triumphantly as he scoops another pile of chips towards himself and drains the last of his beer, then stands to get another. Dean watches him carefully, but Sam seems fine-- almost too good, honestly. Better than he’s been in days. Dean should be happy about his brother’s good mood, but these days he’s just too damn pessimistic. 

He knows the good times never last long.

Shaking aside his dark thoughts, he finishes his own beer and gets another round for himself and his uncles. 

Slowly, Dean starts amassing his own pile of chips, much to Rufus and Bobby’s dismay. He’s not quite caught up to Sam, but he’s climbing steadily and feeling pretty good about it.

Sam, however, is rapidly losing his good mood along with his lead. His mouth twists in displeasure as he surveys his hand, and Dean drums his hand impatiently on the table. He’s got a pair of Jacks in his hand, and he thinks he can win this round.

“Come on now, before we all die of old age,” Bobby grouses.

“Nobody in this family dies of old age,” Sam replies absently, but then his eyes focus on Dean and a smirk passes his lips. “Benny was what, thirty-two?”

Dean sucks in a breath, caught completely off guard by the cruelty in Sam’s voice. He looks to Bobby and Rufus in shock, expecting one of them to say something, to chide Sam for his insensitive remark, but they’re both just chuckling, trading amused glances.

“What the fuck, Sam,” he hisses. 

Sam just shrugs and says, “Raise.”

“Fold,” Dean replies tightly. He throws his cards down and pushes his chair back from the table noisily, turning his face away so the others can’t see how flushed he surely is. 

“Typical,” Rufus mutters under his breath. “Giving up so easily.”

“And who do you think he learned it from, huh,” Bobby says, still laughing. 

Whirling back around, Dean raises one eyebrow at them. “Same people I learned how to be a bitter, lonely, washed-up wreck from, I’d imagine.”

He’s appalled at the words coming out of his own mouth, but he can’t seem to stop them. The stereo is still playing, Amy Winehouse crooning about how she’s no good, and Dean rubs at his arms, suddenly cold even under his thick sweatshirt.

Something isn’t right.

They’re all laughing, even Dean, but distantly, he thinks how unusual this is for them. They’re constantly teasing each other, it’s true, and Bobby and Rufus’ sniping matches are legendary, but there’s always an undercurrent of affection to their exchanges that feels markedly absent tonight. There’s something vicious, something cruel in their words that Dean has never heard from them before, himself included.

As their laughter trails off, Sam’s eyes go wide, his head turning slightly towards the stereo. “Ruby loved this song,” he murmurs. He stands and adjusts the volume, humming along and swaying slightly to the music. 

Bobby and Rufus look at each other, then both begin singing along. Dean has heard them sing before, and this isn’t how they normally sound-- their voices are slow and eerie, and more harmonious than normal.

He feels a prickle of unease crawl up his spine even as the words start to slowly spill from his mouth as well, though he could swear he doesn’t know this song that well.

_I told you I was trouble, you know that I’m no good…_

As the song ends, a woman’s low laughter echoes through the room, seemingly coming from all around them. Sam chokes back a sob, and the stereo crashes to the floor, the music cutting out abruptly.

Dean blinks like he’s regaining consciousness just in time to see Sam raise a trembling hand to his cheek. “Ruby?” he whispers, then with a soft cry, he turns and bolts up the stairs, his door slamming behind him seconds later.

“What in the hell just happened,” Rufus says into the shocked silence that follows, staring at the stereo on the floor. “Dean?”

Dean doesn’t reply.

“Boy, what’s going on?” Bobby demands.

“I wish I knew,” Dean mutters. 

He has an idea, but he really doesn’t like it. “You go on up to bed,” he says wearily. “I’ll clean up here.”

“Dean,” Bobby says quietly. “We only want to help.”

The difference between his tone now and how it was five minutes earlier is so marked, it only reinforces the theory floating in the back of Dean’s mind. He swallows heavily and brushes aside Bobby’s concern. “I know,” he replies. “I’ve got this.”

Rufus purses his lips but brushes a reassuring hand across Dean’s shoulder as he passes him on his way up the stairs. Dean leans into the touch, absorbing what strength he can, and when the kitchen is quiet once more, he slowly begins to collect the empty beer bottles and organize the deck of cards.

He leaves the stereo until last. Looking at it, lying there on the floor, he bites his lip and reaches for the container of salt in the cupboard, then sprinkles it over the black plastic before picking it up and tossing it into the garbage, which he promptly takes out to the disposal behind the house.

The chilly night air is refreshing, and Dean tilts his face up to the sky, letting it wash over him. He takes a deep breath, looking up at the dark house, and thinks he sees a shadow move across Sam’s bedroom window, but when he looks again, it’s gone.

He tells himself he’s overreacting, but he makes sure to check in on Sam before he goes to bed anyway. His brother is curled under the covers, looking impossibly small for someone of his size, but he’s breathing steadily in and out. Dean smoothes his hair back from his forehead and glares at the dark corner of the room.

“Leave him alone,” he mutters fiercely. “Just...leave him alone.”

He goes to sleep with low, dark laughter ringing in his ears.


	9. Chapter 9

In the bright morning sunlight, it’s a bit easier to think rationally about the events of the previous night. Unfortunately, even after going over all the details, Dean arrives at the same conclusion: they’re being haunted.

He doesn’t share his theory with his uncles, as much as he wants to. Doing so would mean admitting the truth about what happened to Ruby in the first place, and as much as he wants to let the secret out, he still feels it’s Sam’s decision to make, not his. 

Conveniently, the uncles are headed off on their yearly retreat to the hunting cabin with a number of their friends. They’ll be gone for ten days, and while part of Dean worries about them being away, he’s also relieved, knowing they won’t be around to witness any more suspicious spirit activity. 

He stands on the porch at seven in the morning, saying his farewells as Rufus loads up the truck, Bobby giving him a searching look from beneath the brim of his old hat. “You sure you don’t want us to stay?” he asks.

They’re already aware something bigger than Sam’s girlfriend being missing is going on. But the advantage, Dean thinks, of being so close, is that they trust that the boys would confide in them if they truly needed help. It hurts Dean to lie to them, to not let them in, but he nods anyway. 

“We’ll be fine,” he lies.

Rufus walks over to join them. “You call us,” he says firmly. “If anything happens. Call us.”

“You bet.” Dean gives them both brief hugs. 

Looking up at the house, Bobby makes a disappointed noise. “Say bye to your brother for us, alright?”

“Yeah, of course.” Sam hasn’t yet emerged from his room, and as worrying as that is, Dean will deal with it later. Once Bobby and Rufus are gone. 

“Alright then,” Rufus says heavily. “Let’s roll.”

Dean waves goodbye until he can longer see the dust from the truck, and then turns and goes back inside. He heads straight for the library and, after a few minutes’ searching, finds the book he’s looking for. 

He’s engrossed in reading, eyes moving rapidly over the page, and he doesn’t notice when Sam walks into the room and sits down beside him.

“So, you figured it out,” Sam says quietly, but still loudly enough to startle Dean.

“Jesus,” he yelps. “Good morning to you, too.”

“What’s so good about it?” Sam replies. And he has a point. He looks absolutely horrible, his face sickly pale and his eyes sunken. Dean thought he had been asleep when he checked on him the night before, but he doesn't look well-rested now.

“Fair enough,” Dean concedes, closing the book. “How long have you known?”

Sam fiddles with the edge of his sleeve and won’t meet Dean’s eyes. “Since that first night I woke up and saw her in my room.”

“And you didn’t think, just maybe, you should say something?”

“Like you would have believed me,” Sam says tiredly. “I wouldn’t have believed me, either. I would have said exactly what you did: it was just a dream. But it wasn’t, Dean. I think after last night, that’s pretty clear.”

Dean sighs, knowing Sam is right. He would have dismissed Sam’s worries as his grief and his imagination conspiring against him. But not anymore. The events of the previous night are still too fresh in his mind.

“So, I’ve been reading up on hauntings,” he says, indicating the book he’d put aside. “Everything adds up: you seeing Ruby in your room, the freaky thing with the music, making us say that shit to each other…”

“Yeah,” Sam says, looking away again. He swallows nervously. “Dean, you know I never would have said those things if--”

“I know,” Dean replies gently. “She got to all of us, okay? I’m not mad, Sam.”

Sam nods, but he still looks distressed. Understandably so. Dean taps the book in front of him, drawing Sam’s attention to it once more.

“Fortunately, I think I also learned how to get rid of her,” he says with a slight smile.

“Really?” Sam leans forward and takes the book from Dean, flipping it to the page he’s marked. He reads over the section with interest, his eyes widening, until he reaches the end and his face falls.

Dean knows it isn’t ideal. He wishes there was some other way to solve their problem, but that doesn’t seem to the case.

At least they buried her nearby.

“So we just....prepare this cleansing potion, sprinkle some salt over the grave, then light it on fire?” Sam asks skeptically. 

“Salt and fire are purifiers,” Dean reminds him. “That’s basic stuff, Sammy. It should banish her spirit.”

_Should_ being the operative word.

“You wanna do this now?” he asks. The sooner, the better, in his opinion, but again, it’s up to Sam.

“Maybe tonight? She hasn’t bothered me during the day,” Sam says. “And I know we’re pretty isolated out here, but I’d still feel more comfortable under cover of darkness, you know.”

“Sure,” Dean nods. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He glances down at the book again. “We’ve got most of this stuff here at the house, and I can get the rest from the store and bring it home with me tonight.”

“Okay.” Sam seems a bit steadier now that they have a plan of action, but Dean’s still concerned about him. 

“You gonna be okay on your own?” he asks carefully. 

Sam hesitates. “Maybe I can come with you?” he says, sounding almost shy. “I won’t get in the way, I promise. I’ll go over to the Roadhouse for lunch so Ellen and Jo can fuss over me, and then we can head home together?”

It’s a good plan, and Dean will definitely feel better knowing Sam isn’t by himself in the house, even if Ruby hasn’t made an appearance during the day yet. 

“Sounds good to me,” he says, and is rewarded with a shaky smile.

Charlie, predictably, is thrilled to see Sam. She launches herself at him with an enthusiasm that seems to surprise him, but he sweeps her off her feet in a hug as she laughs with delight. Dean smiles fondly, watching the two of them, and a little of the darkness he’s carried with him since the night before passes. 

He puts Sam to work in the back, chopping and weighing herbs, and Sam seems content enough with the mindless task. Dean leaves the door open so he can keep an eye on him, and the morning passes in the usual manner, still maybe not quite as busy as they might be, but not so noticeably quiet that it upsets either Dean or Charlie. 

“How’s he doing?” she asks quietly, glancing into the back at Sam. “I mean, obviously, he’s not doing great, but you know.”

“Like you said, not great,” Dean replies, “but I’m hoping he can start getting better soon.”

Once they banish Ruby’s spirit, at least they’ll only have to worry about the investigation, and not about what she can do to them. Being haunted does put things in perspective, Dean thinks wryly. 

“Maybe he should come work with us here more often,” Charlie suggests. “It can’t be good for him, staying in the same place all the time.”

It’s not a bad idea. After they deal with the ghost, Dean will suggest it to Sam. He could also probably help out at the Roadhouse like they used to when they were younger. It would be good for him to have something to structure his days around. 

“I’ll talk to him about it,” Dean promises. 

Shortly after one o’clock, Sam heads out to go grab lunch at the Roadhouse. He offers to bring something back for Dean and Charlie, but they brought food with them, so they decline. Sam waves as he leaves, and Dean watches as heads turn on the street as he walks away. He can practically hear the whispers, surprised to see Sam out and about, and he hopes nothing cruel reaches Sam’s ears.

Business slows towards the end of the day, so they’re able to close up quickly and be out the door by five minutes after six. Dean walks Charlie home, since it’s on the way to the Roadhouse, and laughs when she can’t find her key in her purse and eventually uses the spare she gave him a while back in case of emergencies. 

“You’re a life-saver, Dean,” she says gratefully.

“Nah,” he replies with a grin. “Just good in a tight corner.”

“See you tomorrow!” 

“You bet.”

He waits until she’s safely inside, then continues on his way. He finds Sam sitting at the bar, chatting rapidly to Jo, who looks absolutely thrilled to see him. Her smile only broadens when she sees Dean approach, and of course, she insists on him staying to chat as well.

“We should probably be heading home,” Dean says carefully, exchanging a look with Sam. The spell ingredients he brought with him from the store are tucked inside his pocket, reminding him they still have a job to do.

“One beer,” Jo says pleadingly. “Come on, it’s been ages.”

Sam gives a tiny nod, so Dean sighs and slides onto the stool beside him. “Oh, alright then,” he says. 

“So I heard you put Sam to work today,” Jo teases. “Did you have to give him a hairnet to wear?”

“Didn’t think of that, but it’s something to keep in mind for next time,” Dean muses. “I think you could rock it, Sammy.”

Sam crinkles his nose in distaste. “No thanks.”

“We could always just cut it,” Jo threatens with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “One quick snip, and you’d be ready to join one of the family businesses, Sam.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Sam mutters under his breath. “That’s the nice thing about freelancing: no dress code.”

“So, tell me,” Jo says, leaning across the bar, “how often would you write in just your underwear?”

“As often as possible,” Sam replies, somehow managing to keep a straight face. “It got kind of awkward sometimes when my editor wanted to Skype.”

Even the people sitting near them chuckle at Sam’s words, and it’s all so pleasant and carefree that Dean kind of wants to stay forever. But as soon as he finishes his beer, he stands and places a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Time to hit the road,” he says.

“Right.” Sam drains the last of his beer and reaches across the bar to give Jo a one-armed hug. “Thanks, Jo.”

“Come back soon, alright?” she says, her voice soft. “We miss you around here.”

“You bet,” Sam says. 

They’re almost at the exit when the door swings open, and Dean steps to the side to let the person on the other side pass. He hears a soft sound of surprise and looks up to meet Cas’ eyes.

“Dean,” he says, obviously as startled as Dean is. “I was...hoping you might be here, but I didn’t really--”

He catches sight of Sam standing behind Dean, and his face goes suddenly still, like he’s remembering what his real purpose in Sioux Falls is, and how Dean is connected to it. Still upset about their last encounter, Dean gives him a cool nod and moves to walk past him, but Cas’ voice stops him.

“You look terrible,” he says to Sam. 

Sam, at least, is more surprised than offended. “Yeah, well,” he says with a shrug. “Not exactly an easy time for me.”

“I suppose not,” Cas murmurs. His gaze flickers to Dean, watching them with a wary expression. “Would you mind if I spoke to your brother for a minute, Sam?”

Sam clearly doesn’t want to get on Cas’ bad side anymore than he already is, so he just nods and steps aside. “I’ll start back to the car,” he says.

Dean tosses him the keys. “See you in a minute.”

They both watch Sam leave, and then Cas turns back to Dean. “I’m glad I happened to find you here,” he says, and he sounds so goddamn earnest about it. 

“Why?” Dean asks. “Got more opinions about magic you want to share with me?”

Cas chews at his lip, clearly frustrated. “No,” he says. “I wanted to-- I don’t know, Dean. I just wanted to see you again.”

“Yeah, well, what if I didn’t?” It’s not true, of course. Dean has spent every day since their last meeting hoping he would cross paths with Cas again. But Cas doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh,” Cas says, clearly taken aback by Dean’s words. “Because...I’m asking questions about you and your family?”

“Maybe. But also maybe because you were a dick,” Dean suggests.

He’s being unfair, he knows, but Cas is in civilian clothes again, meaning this isn’t an official conversation, meaning Dean doesn’t have to play nice. 

“I suppose I was,” Cas admits, and then has the nerve to laugh. “It’s refreshing, hearing you call me out on it. Most people are too afraid I’ll arrest them.”

How is Dean supposed to stay mad when Cas is laughing at himself like that, looking unfairly good as he always does in his casual clothes? Dean wants to drag him into the backroom of the bar and kiss that stupid smile right off his face.

“Look,” he says, sighing. “It’s fine, okay? No hard feelings. You have your beliefs and I have mine. But I gotta go, man.”

“Oh,” Cas says, and that’s definitely a look of disappointment on his face. “Alright, then.”

Dean wishes he could explain. Wishes he could tell Cas everything. Wishes he could wipe that disappointed look off his face and bring back that gorgeous smile. 

But he has something that needs to be done. 

“See you around, Cas,” he says, and then he’s out the door.

Sam is waiting for him in the car, and he doesn’t say anything as Dean slides behind the wheel and starts the engine. Dean’s grateful for his silence, because he doesn’t know how he would even try to explain what’s going on between him and Cas anyway. 

They stay quiet on the drive home, but as soon as they get inside, they both slip into the rhythm of spellwork with ease. Dean fetches the book and starts measuring and mixing the ingredients for the cleansing potion while Sam pours out the required amount of salt into a copper bowl and mumbles the proper incantation over it. It doesn’t take long before everything is ready and they’re heading out to the yard with the components of the spell. 

They made sure to leave no traces that the ground had been dug up when they buried Ruby’s body, but they both remember exactly where they did so. Dean lights the small candles they brought with them and places them in a row on the east side of the unmarked grave. They flicker in the night breeze but don’t blow out, which he takes as a good sign.

Sam, his face pale but determined, holds the bowl of the cleaning mixture and tips it slowly over the gravel, watching as it absorbs into the ground. It actually smells quite pleasant. When the bowl is empty, Dean takes the container of salt and throws it onto the ground in small batches, passing it over to Sam so he can do the same. It’s important that they both participate, he knows, since they were both involved in Ruby being in this position in the first place.

“Do you want to say anything?” he asks quietly when the salt is all gone. 

“No,” Sam replies, shaking his head. “I don’t have anything left to say.”

“Okay, then. Let’s do this.” Dean holds out the page with the spell copied on it so both he and Sam can read it, and they begin to recite.

The wind seems to pick up as their words grow louder, and Dean swears he feels a slight trembling in the ground beneath their feet, but they’re able to finish the spell without being interrupted. He passes his matches to Sam, who holds them for a brief moment before striking one and tossing it to the ground, his face curiously blank. 

The remnants of the cleansing mixture burst into flames with a slight violet tinge to them and the smell intensifies as it burns, then slowly flickers out. 

They wait, but nothing else happens. “Shouldn’t it be....more dramatic?” Sam asks hesitantly.

“I don’t know, Sam, it’s not like I ever tried to banish a ghost before!” Dean hisses. 

Sam has a point, though. Dean would have expected something a little bit more colourful, maybe some wailing and gnashing of the teeth. Instead, it’s just quiet, the lingering scent of the herbs from the potion blowing in the air. 

“So, did it work?” There are equal parts hope and doubt in Sam’s voice, and Dean wishes he could be more confident in his reply.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “But we did the spell exactly like it said, right? And we’re both pretty experienced. I think we did it, Sam. I think she’s at peace.”

Sam lets out something like a sob, then quickly gathers his composure once more. “Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Now we just have to deal with Officer Novak.”

“Right,” Dean says after an awkward moment of silence. “Yeah.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Sam’s face as he gathers up their things and heads back into the house. “Somehow, we’re going to find a way to use this little flirtation of yours to our advantage,” he says. “The way he asked to talk to you, back at the bar? Maybe you can convince him to leave us alone.”

Dean doesn’t like the thought, but he nods anyway. He knows, rationally, that Cas is a problem for them. But he doesn’t want him gone. He wants him to stop asking questions, but not to leave town. 

“Sure,” he says to Sam, the words ringing falsely in his own ears. “I’ll see what I can do.”

They clean up the kitchen and say their goodnights, Sam heading off to bed with a look of satisfaction on his face. Dean goes up to his own room and looks out the window towards the patch of the yard where Ruby is buried. He stares at it for a long moment, but doesn’t hear or see anything. 

He just has to believe that it worked. The alternative is too frightening to consider.


	10. Chapter 10

The next few days are blessedly quiet. Sam starts to get more colour in his cheeks again, and he seems to be sleeping better, because two days after they banish Ruby’s spirit, he gets up at the same time as Dean and goes for a morning run, something he hasn’t done since coming back to town. Dean teases him for it like he always does, but he’s secretly overjoyed to see Sam getting back into his usual routine. 

It feels like progress.

Bobby and Rufus call to check in on them, and Dean answers their carefully worded questions with less hesitance than he expected to need. “Yes, we’re fine,” he says, slipping into the back room of the store for privacy. “No, we haven’t burned the house down, Jesus. What do you think we are, stupid teenagers?”

“You never know,” Rufus grumbles. 

“Jo’s the one with the thing about fire, not us,” Dean says with a laugh. “And we’ve been going to see her at the Roadhouse, so your place is safe from her.”

There’s a scrambling on the other end of the line as Rufus passes the phone to Bobby. “You doing alright, boy?” he asks gruffly.

“Yes,” Dean repeats with a sigh. Their concern is appreciated, as always, but seeing as he’s actually feeling pretty damn good about the way things are going right now, it’s unnecessary. “How’s the fishing?”

“Don’t try to change the subject on me,” Bobby warns. “We’re talking about you and Sam. How’s he doing?”

“Good, I think,” Dean replies, smiling. “He went for a run this morning.”

“Did he now?” Bobby sounds pleased. “That’s good to hear.”

“So, as you can see, we’re fine. Now go catch us some fish to cook when you guys get back here.”

“Alright, Dean. You call us if--”

“Yes, Bobby.” Dean ends the call, shaking his head in amusement. He loves his uncles, he really does, but they’re the definition of over-protective sometimes. 

“Hey, I’m going over to the cafe,” Dean calls to Charlie, sliding his jacket on. “Want anything?”

“Chai,” she replies absently, her head buried in the mess of wires under the desk. She’s been working on some sort of system upgrade she swears will help them with their online ordering, but so far it only seems to be creating more problems for her. Dean figures it’s best if he just stays out of her way and keeps her well-supplied with food and caffeinated beverages.

“You got it,” he says.

The little coffee shop down the street has been there for years, a true staple of downtown Sioux Falls. It has changed owners a few times, but for most of Dean’s life, it’s been run by Missouri Moseley, who’s as likely to give Dean a smack across the chest as she is to give him a free muffin. It always makes for an interesting visit.

Inside, the air is warm and fragrant with the smells of roasting coffee and pastries baking. People linger at the tables and couches for hours sometimes, just basking in the cozy atmosphere. Part of Dean wishes he could do the same, but he’s still got a few more hours of work left after this, and Charlie needs her chai.

Missouri smiles at him over the counter, and Dean lets his shoulders relax. She’s in a good mood today. “What can I get for you, honey?” she asks.

“Hey, Missouri. Uh, a regular latte for me and a chai for Charlie, and maybe a few of those blueberry muffins?”

“You got it,” she replies. “Extra foam on the chai, right?”

“That’s right,” he grins. Sometimes small town life has its advantages, like people knowing your beverage order right away.

She puts the muffins in a bag as another employee works on their drinks, and passes them over to Dean, her face turning serious. “How’s that brother of yours doing?”

“Getting better, I think.” It’s starting to feel less and less like a lie. 

“Good, good,” Missouri murmurs. “You keep it that way, you hear me? Something about that boy…” She makes a tsking noise and then shrugs. “But he’s got you to look out for him.”

“Right.” Her words make Dean uneasy. Missouri isn’t entirely normal by small-town standards either, with a knack for making statements that end up coming true. She doesn’t offer them to just anyone, though, which keeps people from being too wary around her. 

She turns to help the next customer, and Dean waits for the drinks to be ready, pushing her words to the back of his mind. Sam’s fine. He’s doing so much better already. 

Dean is almost at the door when he happens to glance over at one of the tables in the far corner of the room and see Cas sitting there, a pile of papers spread out in front of him. Dean hesitates, unsure if he should approach him, but then Cas looks up and meets his eyes, and Dean’s chance to flee vanishes. 

Cas gestures him over, and Dean’s legs carry him in that direction without thought. He perches on the chair across from Cas and gives him a smile. “Hey,” he says. 

“Good afternoon, Dean,” Cas replies. It’s hard to tell, but he sounds slightly more reserved than he has been the last few times they spoke. 

“So, uh, what are you working on there?” Dean nods to the pile of papers on the table, and then wishes he could take back his words when he sees the word _Winchester_ scrawled across most of them.

Right. Of course. Cas is working on the case that brought him here, the case that brought him to Dean’s doorstep. The case that’s always going to be between them. 

“Just going over some notes again,” Cas says, and this time Dean can clearly hear the distance in his voice.

Dean should just leave. But he’s curious, and so he just pulls one of the papers towards himself. It’s a family tree, names and dates of birth and death indicated in clear letters. The Winchester family tree, to be precise.

“Trying to trace our ancestry?” Dean says, but the joke falls flat.

“Not exactly.” Cas drums his fingers on the table and reaches to pull the paper back towards himself. “I was looking at this, and I noticed something strange.”

“What’s that?”

Pointing to the lines that indicate Dean’s parents, Cas says, “Your father died young, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Dean answers warily. “Bad heart.”

“But he’s the only one,” Cas continues, eyes sweeping over the page. “In the direct Winchester line, that is. All the other deaths in your family...they’re the ones who married in.”

Dean doesn’t say anything. He’s afraid that whatever he says will somehow be used against him. Against Sam.

“It’s a little bit strange, isn’t it?” Cas muses. “A rash of premature deaths within one family is bad luck, but almost all of them being the outsiders…”

Either somebody told Cas about the curse, or he’s finally come to the conclusion that Dean belongs to a family of serial killers with a tradition of murdering their partners. Seeing as the only ones who know about the curse are his family members and he highly doubts any of them would have said anything, the second option is looking more likely. 

Dean is definitely not prepared for this line of questioning. He pushes his chair back from the table and gets to his feet. “I have to get back to work,” he says. “Don’t want Charlie’s drink to get cold.”

“Dean.” Cas’ firm voice stops him in his tracks. “I’m not letting this go.”

Of course he isn’t. Because he’s damn good at his job, and he cares about what happened to Ruby, and Dean is so, so screwed. 

“I want to talk to you and Sam again,” Cas continues, no room for argument in his tone. “Can I drop by tonight?”

Dean wants to refuse, but he knows that will only make things worse. “I’ve got a thing tonight,” he says vaguely. “How about tomorrow?” He hopes this counter-offer will make him seem like he’s cooperating.

“Fine. Six-thirty?” 

It’s clear Cas knows exactly what time Dean closes the store and how long it takes him to get home. “Sure,” Dean says, his voice steady despite his pounding heart. “We’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

It takes a great deal of effort to walk away without looking back, but Dean manages.

Charlie, fortunately, is too distracted to do anything other than thank Dean for her drink before going back to work. Dean perches on the edge of the counter and slowly sips his latte, his mind racing. 

Cas can’t prove anything. All the other deaths in Dean’s family were awful, but none of them were suspicious as isolated incidents. It’s only when you put them all together, as Cas clearly did, that the pattern begins to emerge. And what was that comment about Dean’s dad being the only one of the original line to die young? Does Cas think they had something to do with that as well?

It’s ridiculous, of course, but it’s Cas’ job to be suspicious. And Ruby wasn’t married into the family the way all the others were, but she was involved with Sam at the time of her disappearance, so Dean can’t exactly fault Cas’ logic there. 

He has no idea what to expect at their planned meeting tomorrow night. Cas isn’t hauling them down to the police station in handcuffs, at least, but the fact that he wants to talk to both of them has Dean’s protective instincts on edge. 

At least he managed to secure them an extra day. An extra day to come up with a plan of some sort, some way to make their family’s fucked up history seem a lot less grim. 

They could always tell Cas the truth, Dean thinks with a bitter smile. About the curse, at least. Tell him that anyone who loves a Winchester dies, point to the same files Cas has clearly been poring over, and let him connect the dots. 

If he hadn’t already had that conversation with Cas about magic and been promptly shut down, Dean would have at least attempted it. But based on Cas’ clear disbelief about the reality of magic in Dean’s life, he’s pretty sure _our family is cursed_ isn’t going to be a convincing explanation for all the dead people on that family tree. 

“Hey, Dean, can you give me a hand with this for a second?” Charlie calls, sticking her head out from under the desk. She’s got dust on her cheeks and her hair’s a mess, but there’s a pleased grin on her face. “I think I’ve almost got it working.”

Dean sets down his latte and goes to join her, holding wires and plugging them in as she directs. At least, he thinks grimly, Charlie will have a functional order system to help her keep the store running if he ends up in jail.

***

He’s nervous through the rest of that day and the next, snappish and distracted at work and at home. Sam doesn’t seem too bothered by Cas’ planned visit, merely shrugging when Dean tells him about it. “We just keep saying the same thing we have all along,” he suggests, like it’s just that easy.

Maybe for Sam it is. But it isn’t for Dean.

So he has an understandable moment of panic when he arrives home after work and sees Cas’ car already parked in the driveway. He checks the time, frowning when he sees that it’s only 6:25. He got home in record time, and Cas still managed to beat him.

He has the sneaking suspicion this wasn’t an accident.

Dean takes a deep breath and pushes open the front door, glancing warily into the kitchen and finding it empty. He hears voices from the living room, though, so he heads in that direction, trying to keep himself calm and composed. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he says as he enters, looking immediately to Sam to gauge the situation. Sam’s posture is easy, sitting in Bobby’s usual chair while Cas occupies Rufus’, no visible signs of stress on his face.

“You’re not,” Cas says, rising from his seat with a fluid grace that almost distracts Dean from his worries. Almost. “I was early.”

Dean bites back his question about whether that was intentional and just nods. “Sam, you didn’t offer Officer Novak anything to drink?” he chides. The uniform is on, and there’s a large stack of files and documents on the coffee table, and there’s no doubt that this is a formal visit, but that doesn’t mean they can’t still show some hospitality. 

Besides, he really wants a coffee. Maybe with a shot of whiskey thrown in. 

“I’m going to put on a pot of coffee,” he announces. It’ll give him a few moments to center himself, and maybe it will make them look more comfortable with Cas’ presence, continuing the charade of having nothing to hide.

He can hear Sam and Cas talking, but once the coffeemaker starts gurgling, their conversation fades to a low murmur. He’s fairly certain Cas will leave any particularly probing questions until they’re all together, but he did get here early, almost like he wanted to catch Sam alone before Dean got back from work. 

“How do you take your coffee, Officer?” he calls out. Black, probably. 

“Black, thank you,” Cas replies, coming to join him in the kitchen. 

The corner of Dean’s mouth twists in a slight smile as he passes over a mug. Cas accepts it with murmured thanks, and he glances at Dean as he does, something close to regret in his eyes.

Dean thinks he might have a similar expression on his face. There’s a quiet intimacy to the moment, and he can imagine it taking place on another day, in another life, where he and Cas aren’t divided by the case he’s working, where Cas has just come home after a long day and Dean has made him coffee and maybe there are quiet words and a gentle embrace and fond, coffee-flavoured kisses…

He takes a sip from his own mug and the scalding liquid jolts him back to the present, just as he hoped. 

“Maybe we should get started,” Cas murmurs, looking away.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, and leads him back to the other room. He perches himself on the edge of the couch, unable to relax, as Cas sets down his coffee and picks up one of his files.

“I’ve spoken to some of Ms. Lockhart’s co-workers again,” he begins. “Asked a few more questions about the last night they saw her.”

His eyes flick over to Sam as if gauging his reaction, and Sam, to his credit, does a good job of acting like he’s bracing for a surprise even though he knows exactly what happened that night. 

“One of them told me she was talking like she was going to see you soon,” Cas continues. “That very night, in fact.”

“I guess she wanted to surprise me,” Sam murmurs. 

“Is that something you did often? Surprise each other with visits?”

“Yeah, we--” Sam breaks off and looks down like the memory is painful, and Dean can’t tell if it’s genuine or if he’s taking a moment to get his story straight. Or both. “Because I travelled so much, we never planned a lot, you know?”

“So this doesn’t sound like uncharacteristic behaviour for her?”

After only a slight hesitation, Sam shakes his head. “No.”

“If she was planning on running away, for example, why would she bother to mention you to her friends at all? Why not simply act as though it were any other night?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answers wearily. “Maybe...so they wouldn’t worry right away if she didn’t show up the next day? There were times she would skip work or show up late if we were together.”

Cas looks at him for a moment, expression neutral, then turns to Dean. “When your brother arrived, you were the only one here, correct?”

“Yes,” Dean answers, glad that the first question is such a simple one. 

“And you didn’t think it strange, him showing up out of the blue?”

“I was just happy to see him,” Dean shrugs. He imagines he would have been, anyways.

“And how would you characterize Sam’s behaviour when he got here?”

Now that’s a tough one. Dean pauses, hoping this won’t be taken as suspicious. “He seemed tired, I guess? Which makes sense, always being on the road and everything.”

“Not stressed, or anxious?” 

“Isn’t that a leading question?” Sam chimes in. 

Cas gives him a level look. “Perhaps,” he concedes. “Very well, in your own words, then, Dean.”

“Not anxious, no,” Dean replies slowly. “Maybe stressed, but sure, we’re all stressed sometimes. Life is stressful, work is stressful.”

“Had Sam ever talked to you about his relationship with Ms. Lockhart before?”

“Sure,” Dean says. “Told me he met this girl, told me her name was Ruby, they saw each other when they could.” None of this is strictly untrue, it’s just far from the entire truth. 

“And did Sam say anything about her when he got here?” Cas asks, pen poised above his notepad.

Dean studiously avoids looking at Sam though he desperately wants to, hoping to find some indication of how to proceed. But he knows that would be obvious to someone as sharp as Cas, so he keeps his gaze steady on Cas’ face. 

“Not that I can remember,” he says carefully. 

“And you don’t find that strange, that you didn’t talk about his relationship? I would think, the two of you clearly being so close, it’s the type of thing that would normally come up.”

“Maybe we talked about it briefly?” Dean has to look to Sam for help now, but it seems more natural, like they’re trying to recall the details of their conversations.

“Like I said, it was a fairly casual thing,” Sam says smoothly. “I’m sure she came up in conversation, but not as the entire focus.”

Dean really doesn’t know how Sam is staying so calm. He feels like his heart is going to pound out of his chest, certain that Cas can hear the guilt underpinning every one of his words. 

Cas shuffles his papers around for a few minutes before pulling a new one out. It’s clearly older, the paper slightly yellowed, and he reads it over quickly before looking back at Dean. 

“You were four when your mother died, correct?”

Dean sucks in a startled breath, his grip on his coffee cup tightening. Cas clearly notices, because his voice is significantly softer when he speaks again.

“I’m sorry, that was abrupt of me,” he says.

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs, then clears his throat. “Correct. I was four.”

“And do you remember what your father was like, afterwards?” Cas’ voice is still gentle, but he’s not pulling any punches with his questions.

“Sad?” Dean says. “God, I don’t know. I was a kid, and my mom just died, and I had no idea what the hell was going on.”

“I’m sorry, truly, but this is important,” Cas says firmly. 

“Why?” He can’t keep the agitation out of his voice now. “You want me to say ‘yes, Officer, my father was acting shady as hell after my mom died’ like he had something to do with it?”

“Did he?” Cas asks. 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters. He really needs a stronger drink. “Of course not. What, are you going to ask me if I killed my husband too?”

“No.” Cas shakes his head. “Sam and I already talked about that before you got home. I’m quite certain your husband’s death was a tragic accident, Dean, and I am sincerely sorry for your loss. But there is a young woman who has been missing for weeks now, and it is my duty to find out what happened to her, even if it means asking difficult questions.”

Dean just stares at him. He asked Sam about Benny? Sam gives him an apologetic look, like he’d hoped they could avoid telling Dean that. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam interjects. “Of course we want to find out what happened to Ruby as well. I really appreciate your dedication, Officer.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas says, but there’s no warmth in his tone, only polite formality. Dean doesn’t miss the way he sounds completely different when he talks to Sam than he does when talking to Dean, and he can’t tell if it’s just because he suspects Sam more strongly of being involved in Ruby’s disappearance, or if it’s something else. 

“If you truly want to help,” Cas continues, “give me something I can work with, Sam. Friends, family members Ruby might have gone to see. Anything that might have driven her to abandon her life and run away, or anyone who might have cause to wish her harm.”

There’s an unspoken _other than yourself_ at the end of his sentence, and looking at his brother, Dean knows Sam hears it too. 

“I wish I could,” Sam says quietly. “But as far as I know, her family was all dead or distant. Her closest friends were her co-workers at the bar, and if they don’t know anything…”

“They do know something,” Cas points out tightly. “They know about you.”

Sam goes silent, his face pale, but his hands twitch nervously on the arm of the chair. Dean watches in growing discomfort at the moment stretches on, and he can feel a confession bubbling up in his throat, so close to spilling over, so close to finally being set free--

“I need a refill,” Sam says abruptly, and gathers their mugs before stalking off to the kitchen, his entire body one long line of tension.

Dean swallows nervously and looks at the ground. He doesn’t want to know what he’ll see in Cas’ face if he looks at him-- disgust? Suspicion? Pity?

“Dean.” 

It’s enough to lift his gaze, and Dean sees only compassion on Cas’ face. “Dean, I need you to know--”

“Here you go,” Sam interrupts, shoving a mug of coffee under Dean’s nose. “And this is mine, and this--” He makes a show of handing Cas his mug, and there’s something slightly manic in his grin, something about the nervous twitching of his hands a few moments before, and Dean instinctively knows, with the bone-deep knowledge he has of his brother, that something is off.

“Don’t!” he cries out as Cas raises the mug to his lips, reaching out and forcibly removing it from his grip. The hot coffee sloshes over the edge of the mug and burns his hand, but he doesn’t even notice, too focused on the way Cas’ mouth has dropped open in surprise.

“What in God’s name,” Cas mutters, looking between the two of them. Sam looks equally startled, but there’s a flash of disappointment across his features, and Dean knows his instincts were correct. 

There’s something more than coffee in that mug.

He laughs weakly, though, trying to play it off. “Sam put cream in it,” he says, as though that’s a perfectly rational explanation for his behaviour.

Cas looks almost disappointed in him. He stands and gathers his papers, tucking them neatly under his arm. He walks towards the door, his back stiff, and pauses with his hand on the knob.

“I suggest you both speak to a lawyer,” he says, his voice cold. “Before we go any further.”

“Cas--” Dean starts to say, but he’s cut off the sharp shake of Cas’ head.

“Speak to a lawyer,” he repeats, and then he’s gone.

Sam and Dean remain frozen in place until the sound of Cas’ engine fades away completely, and then Dean whirls around to face his brother.

“What did you put in that coffee,” he demands.

A muscle jumps in Sam’s jaw, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dean huffs and strides back into the living room, grabbing Cas’ mug from the table where he left it. He holds it to his nose and inhales, years of experience both with spellwork and natural remedies allowing him to pick out the individual scents.

Well, it’s not poison, at least.

“What is this?” he asks. “Cause it sure as hell isn’t hazelnut creamer, Sam.”

Sam sighs, knowing he’s been caught. “It’s a banishing spell,” he admits. “To get rid of unwanted visitors.”

“Like the spell we used on Ruby’s spirit?” Dean says skeptically. 

“It’s related, yeah.”

“And what, you thought this would solve all our problems? Just magically wish Cas away?” Dean can’t keep the anger out of his voice, and it only ignites Sam’s in return.

“Yes, exactly,” Sam snaps. “He’s the only one involved so far. If he just went away, the case would eventually go cold. But you had to go and ruin it.”

“Maybe,” Dean seethes, “if I’d known about your little plan, it might’ve worked. How was I supposed to know what was in that mug?”

Sam starts to reply, and then a look of understanding crosses his face. “What did you think I was going to do? Poison him?”

Dean doesn’t reply.

“Wow.” Sam shakes his head with a laugh of disbelief. “That’s what you think of me? You’ve been paying a little too much attention to your crush’s wild theories, Dean.”

“I didn’t--”

“No, you did. You thought I would _poison_ somebody, Dean? How could you even...” he trails off, and Dean winces at the pure hurt on his face.

“You’ve just been acting so erratic, man,” he says pleadingly. “I could tell something was up, and yeah, maybe for a second I worried it was something worse than a banishing spell. Why didn’t you just tell me? You had to have planned it, you couldn’t have just whipped that up on an impulse.”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t agree,” Sam replies wearily. “You’d throw a hissy fit about using a spell on your precious Officer Novak. I hoped I wouldn’t have to use it, but he was getting too suspicious, Dean. I had to have a back-up plan.”

“In case what? In case I couldn’t charm him into leaving us alone? Because that was your original plan, right? Let me use whatever is going on between him and me to our advantage?”

“And look how well that went!”

They’re both glaring at each other, and this isn’t what Dean wanted at all, he hates fighting with Sam, they’re supposed to be in this together, but if Sam won’t let him in on his plans, how are they supposed to put up a united front?

Sam’s plan didn’t work, either way. Cas is even more suspicious of them than he was before, judging by the way he was acting when he left. So it’s Dean’s turn to make a move now.

“I think we should tell him the truth,” he says.

The words seem to ring in the air, hovering between them as Sam just stares like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“That’s not an option,” he says eventually.

“Why not?” Dean demands. “You heard him, Sam. He thinks we should get a lawyer. This is getting serious. If we tell him the truth, even if we end up charged with something...it won’t be murder, which is probably what he’s going to slap on us otherwise.”

“He’ll never believe us,” Sam says dismissively. 

“He might,” Dean says, thinking back to the conversation he had with Cas about magic. If he can somehow prove that it’s real, if he can appeal to the part of Cas that grew up believing in dragons and wizards and the triumph of good over evil, maybe Cas will believe them too. 

“I won’t let you do this,” Sam says, moving to stand in front of the door like he’s going to physically prevent Dean from leaving.

And maybe, once upon a time, Sam would have been able to beat Dean in a fight. He’s taller and more muscular, sure, but Dean has experience on his side, and Sam has’t exactly been in peak physical condition lately. 

“I’m not going to fight you,” he says evenly. “Move, Sam.”

“You can’t tell him the truth!” There’s a desperate edge to Sam’s voice that would normally stop Dean, but all he can see right now is the look in Cas’ eyes as he turned away, the look that said he thought better of Dean. 

“I have to,” he says woodenly. “It’s for the best, Sam. For both of us.”

“You don’t have to do this!” Sam’s voice breaks, and it’s enough to make Dean meet his gaze. “This was my fault, Dean. I brought Ruby here, I forced you to help me do that spell, I chose not to tell anyone about it. If you go after him and you tell him what happened, you’re going to get yourself locked up too.”

“I know,” Dean says quietly. “But your fight is my fight too, Sammy. It always has been, and it always will.”

Sam’s eyes are wet, and he swallows visibly as he nods. “Okay,” he says.

“Trust me,” Dean says, with more conviction than he actually feels. “It’s going to be okay.”

He slips on his jacket and grabs his keys. Sam follows him out to the porch, and Dean glances back at him in the rearview mirror until he can’t see his silhouette any longer.


	11. Chapter 11

It’s not hard to track Cas down. There are only three motels in town, and Dean spots Cas’ car outside the second one he drives past. He gets out of the Impala and takes a deep breath before knocking on the door. 

He can do this.

Cas opens the door, and Dean suddenly forgets why he’s there. Cas is wearing a soft grey hooded sweatshirt and worn jeans that still manage to cling perfectly to his well-muscled thighs, and under his ridiculously tousled hair, a pair of black-framed glasses only emphasize the otherworldly blue of his eyes.

“Dean?” he says, a slight frown crossing his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?” Dean asks, his throat tight.

Cas’ frown deepens, but he nods and opens the door all the way, ushering Dean inside.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” he says, hurriedly clearing a pile of papers from the bed and tidying the other enormous stack spread across the desk. “I wasn’t expecting you. Or anyone, really.”

“It’s fine,” Dean replies, still hovering awkwardly near the door. He might change his mind any second, and it’s good to have an easy escape route.

“Please, have a seat.” Cas indicates the two chairs by the small table in front of the window, and Dean obeys instinctively, dropping heavily into the closer seat.

His agitation must still be visible, though, because Cas sits across from him and gives him a concerned look. “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about, Dean?” he asks, his voice soft. It’s such a marked difference from his parting words back at the house that it takes Dean a moment to adjust, plucking nervously at a loose thread near the hem of his shirt.

“Maybe.” He was so resolute on the way here, so determined to lay the entire story at Cas’ feet, but now that he’s here, the words simply won’t let themselves be spoken.

Cas watches him for a moment longer. “Something you didn’t want to say in front of Sam?” he guesses.

Dean shakes his head at that. “Sam knows I’m here,” he mumbles. 

“Why are you here?” Cas asks again.

Dean pushes his chair back and stands, looking out the window, ignoring Cas’ sigh.

“I can’t help you if you don’t let me in,” Cas says quietly, and it’s enough to force Dean to turn and look at him once more. He looks exhausted, and until now, Dean never thought how this case would affect Cas, how hard it must be trying desperately to find answers when none seem to appear. 

“Let me help you, Dean,” Cas continues. “I know there’s something you and Sam aren’t telling me. I’ve been doing this job long enough to know that much. But I don’t know what it is, not yet. If you tell me, though...if you tell me what you know, I promise you I will do my best to keep you safe. You and your brother.”

Dean believes him. Enough to sit back down and nod, still not trusting himself to speak.

“Alright,” Cas says gently. He reaches onto the windowsill and grabs a notepad and pen. “Dean. Do you know where Ruby Lockhart is?”

“I think she’s in the spirit world,” Dean replies. 

Cas looks up at him, a confused crease in his brow. “You think she’s dead?”

“I think she’s haunting us. Or was. Hopefully isn’t anymore.” Dean knows he isn’t making much sense, but it’s easier to just answer Cas’ questions rather than starting all the way back at the beginning. 

Cas scribbles something on his notepad without looking down, never breaking eye contact with Dean. “Did you or your brother kill Ruby Lockhart?”

“Sam didn’t kill anyone,” Dean says quickly. 

Nodding slowly, Cas repeats his words. “Sam didn’t kill anyone. But you did?” His voice is heavy, almost like he doesn’t want Dean to answer.

“What would you do if I said I did?” Dean challenges him, standing and pacing the room. “Would you arrest me? Send me to prison? Arrest Sam?”

“Dean--”

“Could you do that, Cas?” It’s an unfair question, and Dean knows it. But he has to ask. “Could you do that to me?”

“It’s not up to me to decide,” Cas replies, his voice terribly gentle. “I told you, Dean, if you’ll just tell me what you know--”

“You’ll do your best to keep me safe, yeah,” Dean interrupts. 

He doesn’t say anything else, and the silence grows thick between them until Cas exhales deeply and pushes his chair back, massaging his temples. “If you’re not going to talk to me, Dean, I don’t know why you bothered to come here at all. Maybe you should just go. Speak to a lawyer, like I suggested.”

“I came because I couldn’t stand the way you looked at me when you left,” Dean bursts out. “Because I couldn’t bear the thought of you being disappointed in me like that.”

Cas’ eyes go wide behind the frames of his glasses, and one hand clenches and unclenches where it’s spread on the table like he wants to reach for Dean but is holding himself back. “Dean--” he says, his voice anguished, but Dean doesn’t let him finish.

“Tell me you feel it too, Cas,” he pleads. “Tell me it’s not just me. Because the minute you walked into my house and smiled at me, this whole thing spun completely out of control, and I need--”

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything more, because quicker than Dean could have expected, Cas is out of his seat, one hand at Dean’s waist and the other tugging his head down into a kiss.

Dean lets out a startled gasp but doesn’t pull away. Cas’ lips are warm against his, and god, it’s been so long since Dean was kissed like this. He’s not sure he was ever kissed like this. He wraps his arms around Cas and tugs him closer, needing to feel the reassuring solidity of him against his body, a shield from all the things that have gone wrong for him recently. 

It’s intoxicating, the feel of Cas’ body under his hands. Dean slips one hand up under his sweatshirt to grasp greedily at the bare flesh of his back and Cas shudders in his hold, his mouth going slack against Dean’s. Dean takes this opportunity to trail kisses over his jaw, to mouth wetly at the place where it meets his neck, making Cas gasp against him. 

That one small noise brings Dean back to reality and he stumbles back, raising a shaky hand to cover his own lips like he can prevent them seeking Cas’ again. “We can’t,” he murmurs.

Cas’ eyes are wide, his lips still parted, and he swallows roughly as he nods, hands clenched tightly at his sides. “You’re right. The case, we shouldn’t--”

They shouldn’t. They both know it. It’s a conflict of interest, it’s only going to complicate things. But Dean doesn’t care. He wants this. Needs it. Needs Cas. 

He moves forward again, and Cas meets him halfway, mouths crashing together with the inevitability and intensity of a storm on a humid summer day.

Dean presses himself even closer, and he can feel the hard line of Cas’ erection through the thin denim of his jeans. Dean tips his head back and groans as Cas sucks a path of kisses down the line of his neck, just enough pressure that Dean’s fairly certain he’ll find a scattering of dark marks there in the morning. 

Cas’ hands are all over him, running up and down his back, slipping around his waist and trailing up and down his chest like he can’t get enough of Dean. Dean pulls off his jacket and lets it crumple to the ground as Cas makes a pleased noise, happy to have more flesh bared to his touch. It’s only fair that Cas loses a layer as well, so Dean tugs impatiently at the hem of his hoodie until Cas pulls away with a little laugh and pulls it gracefully over his head, somehow managing not to disrupt his glasses as he does. Beneath it, he’s only in a thin t-shirt, and Dean’s eyes rove hungrily over the way it clings to his broad shoulders. 

He pauses, though, as Cas gently places his fingertips on Dean’s chin and tips his head up to meet his gaze. “Dean,” he says wonderingly, like he can’t believe this is happening. 

“I know,” Dean murmurs. “I know, Cas.”

And then they’re kissing again, an edge of desperation in the press of their mouths and the way Cas’ tongue strokes slowly against his own. Dean’s knees feel shaky, and he tries to steady himself. Cas-- clever, dependable, Cas-- backs them up until Dean’s back is pressed against the wall, supporting him. Dean sighs gratefully into his mouth and grips him tightly by the hips, pulling their lower bodies flush against one another. 

He doesn’t want to ever stop kissing Cas, but Dean needs more, needs to feel even closer to him. He slowly brings his hands around to the front of Cas’ body, feeling more than hearing Cas’ sharply indrawn breath.

“Wanna touch you,” he murmurs. “Can I, Cas?”

“Yes,” Cas groans, and god, he sounds wrecked. “Please, Dean.”

Dean lightly traces over the bulge in Cas’ jeans with one fingertip, loving the way it makes Cas shiver against him. He fumbles slightly with the zipper on his jeans but then he’s pushing them down far enough to free Cas’ hard cock, wrapping it immediately in his hand. Cas moans and drops his head to Dean’s shoulder, looking down between them to watch as Dean strokes him to full hardness, relishing the weight of him in his hand. 

Cas won’t stop talking, either, too quiet for Dean to make out most of his words where they’re muffled by his shoulder, but he catches his own name several times, along with a surprising number of curses. He’s giddy with the feeling of bringing Cas pleasure like this, and he shamelessly presses his own hips forward so that his cock presses against Cas’ thigh. 

Noticing this, Cas lifts his head meets Dean’s gaze. “Let me touch you too,” he begs, and Dean nods frantically. 

“Yes, god yes,” he says.

His rhythm falters as Cas kisses him deeply, one hand reaching between them to undo Dean’s pants and slide into his underwear. Dean shudders at the first brush of his skin against his cock. It’s been so, so long since he felt anything but his own hand, and Cas’ palm is warm and slightly calloused, wrapping around Dean with just the right amount of pressure to make him tremble. He moans Cas’ name and resumes his own movements, the two of them panting harshly into each other’s ears as their breathing quickens.

He isn’t going to last long, Dean knows, not when Cas is twisting his wrist just like that and using his free hand to pull the collar of Dean’s shirt aside to press his mouth against the top of his chest and the place where his neck meets his shoulders. Not when Cas’ cock is twitching in his own grasp, slick with precome and flushed with blood. 

Cas’ lips travel back up Dean’s neck, his breath warm against Dean’s ear. “Come for me,” he whispers, and Dean does, just like that, spilling hot and thick over Cas’ hand with a noise like a sob. 

“So good,” Cas murmurs, pressing light kisses to Dean’s cheek. “So good, Dean.”

It takes a moment for Dean to recover, his grip having loosened in the throes of his orgasm, but he redoubles his efforts now, increasing the speed of his movements as he kisses Cas, all teeth and tongue and a desperate effort to see him fall apart in Dean’s hold. It only takes another minute or so before Cas stiffens in his arms and comes, mouth parting on a gasp and his blue eyes wide behind those damn glasses.

They stay like that for a moment, just breathing each other in, until the world comes back into focus around them. Dean’s hand is sticky and Cas’ probably is too, so he draws back slightly and with a little laugh, heads to the bathroom to clean up. He washes his hands and buttons his pants back up, looking at himself in the mirror like he expects to be visibly changed by this encounter. There’s a flush high in his cheeks and his eyes are bright. He looks unusually happy. 

Cas slides in beside him at the sink and washes up in silence, but when he reaches to grab a towel to dry his hands, Dean takes hold of his arm and carefully does it for him, wiping away the last of the moisture from his hands. Cas’ breath catches in his throat as though this is somehow more intimate than what they just did, and Dean supposes in a way it is. 

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. Cas leans in and kisses him again, all mellow sweetness now that the urgency has passed. He pulls away and rests his forehead against Dean’s. There’s an entire conversation passing unsaid between them, both of them all too aware of how complicated this situation is and yet unwilling to regret it in the slightest. 

Finally, Cas looks up, and for the first time, he looks uncertain. “Will you stay?” he asks. 

He shouldn’t. Dean should refuse, go home to check on Sam, not let himself fall deeper into this thing with Cas. But it’s been so long since he’s had someone to curl up against at night, and he’s so tired. So tired of keeping it all together, so tired of trying to do the right thing and only making it worse. So maybe, just maybe, if he just listens to his heart for once--

“Yeah,” he says roughly, and the smile that spreads across Cas’ face takes his breath away.

Silently, they pull their pants back off, but by unspoken agreement their shirts and underwear stay on. Dean doesn’t know why it matters-- Cas has already broken through all his armour-- but there’s something reassuring in the very mundaneness of it. They slide under the covers together and Cas flicks off the lamp, then turns on his side so that he and Dean are face to face.

“I wish--” he says, and then falls silent.

Dean knows, though. He knows what Cas wishes for, because he suspects it’s the same thing he does. He reaches out and takes Cas’ hand, twining their fingers together, and that’s how they fall asleep.

***

He wakes early the next morning, his hand tingling from being held in Cas’ grip all night. It’s a pleasant sensation, though, and Dean finds himself hoping it lasts throughout the day, so he’ll feel it and remember this moment. Cas’ breathing is quiet and even, his face smooth in sleep. Dean lightly brushes a dark curl of hair off his forehead and smiles when Cas mumbles something without waking.

It would be easier, he thinks, to leave like this. To slip back out under the cover of the pre-dawn light and not deal with the conversation he knows they have to have. But he’s selfish, and he’s greedy, and he wants at least one more kiss before then. 

So he waits, and after maybe ten minutes, Cas stirs slightly, woken either by Dean’s slight shifting on the bed or by his own internal alarm. He blinks open bleary eyes, and when he focuses on Dean’s face so close to his own, he smiles.

“Good morning,” Dean says softly, enthralled by the way Cas looks, sleep-mussed and rumpled.

“Good morning,” he replies around a yawn.

Dean doesn’t care about morning breath, doesn’t care that he should be leaving. “Can I kiss you?” he asks. 

And Cas just leans forward and meets him halfway. It’s soft at first, just a gentle press of their lips against each other, but it slowly deepens, their bodies sliding closer together on the bed until there’s no space left between them.

One last kiss, Dean had promised himself. He pulls away reluctantly and lets his forehead rest against Cas’. He doesn’t know what to say. It will all be too much or not enough.

Cas understands, if the way he sighs and moves away is any indication. He slips out of the bed and into the bathroom, leaving Dean to sprawl across the bed, thoughtful. 

After another minute, Dean pulls himself to his feet and puts his jeans and overshirt back on, wrinkling his nose at the mustiness of the fabric. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to get it into some semblance of order, and then catches sight of the coffeemaker in the corner of the room. Perfect.

It’s a crappy little thing, but it’ll do the trick. Dean puts on a pot of coffee, glancing down at the papers scattered around with mild interest. There’s a form on top that catches his eyes, addressed to Cas, but it doesn’t use that name. Instead, it reads ‘Castiel Novak.’

Dean frowns, and when Cas emerges from the bathroom a moment later, he waves it in his direction. “Is this your full name?” he asks. It suits him, but in a different way than ‘Cas’ does. 

Cas grimaces slightly. “Yes,” he says. “I only use it for official purposes, really.”

“It’s nice,” Dean offers, trying it out. “Castiel. Never heard it before, though.”

“It’s the name of an angel,” Cas replies with a little laugh, “and I suppose I always felt it was a lot to live up to.”

The paper falls from Dean’s hands and he freezes, a distant voice echoing through his mind: _they’ll have the name of an angel, and the face to match_. It’s his own voice, from when he was a child, a stupid, naive child who thought he could keep himself safe from the family curse by casting a love spell for a person who didn’t exist.

But Cas-- _Castiel_ \-- does exist.

“Dean?” he’s saying worriedly, crossing the room towards him. The glasses are gone, and his eyes are wide and concerned.

“They’ll have eyes as blue as the sky and as deep as the ocean,” Dean recites under his breath. He stumbles back, away from Cas, ignoring the flash of hurt that crosses his features. “Fuck. Oh, fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” Cas asks, but he keeps his distance now, wary. “Dean?”

“I have to go,” Dean mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

Ignoring Cas’ protests, he turns on his heel and flees. 

He turns up the radio in the car, frantically trying to drown out the echoes of his younger self that play on repeat in his mind. It all makes sense now-- the strange feeling of familiarity he experienced the very first time he met Cas, the way he has difficulty being untruthful with him, the way he wants to see him all the time and the way they fell together the night before. 

All because of a spell Dean cast seventeen years ago. 

He chokes back a sob, willing his hands to remain steady on the wheel. He should have known. He should have known something was off from the minute he met Cas, but everything has been so chaotic lately, and he was just allowing himself to hope that there could be one good thing in his life…

But it isn’t real. 

It doesn’t matter anymore. Cas will be so confused by Dean’s behaviour, he’ll likely only grow more suspicious, wonder if Dean slept with him just to try to keep himself safe. He’ll arrest him and Sam both, and there won’t be time for apologies and explanations as Dean is dragged away in handcuffs. 

They never stood a chance. 

He needs to tell Sam he screwed it all up. Needs to tell him to prepare for the worst. They tried, and they failed. Or at least Dean did.

He parks the Impala in front of the house and doesn’t bother trying to enter quietly. He’ll have to wake Sam anyway. His boots thud noisily on the stairs, the sound harsh in the otherwise quiet house. 

“Sam?” he says, pushing open his bedroom door. “We gotta talk.”

Sam is upright in bed, and he turns terrified eyes in Dean’s direction. “Dean, run--” is all he manages to say before a hand slips over his mouth, something moving in the shadows behind him.

“Shh, Sammy,” a woman’s voice croons. “It’ll all be alright.” A glimmer of a smile, and eerie, shining black eyes. “Hey, Dean. Welcome to the party.”


	12. Chapter 12

As always, his first worry is for Sam. His brother’s eyes are wide and frightened, but Ruby doesn’t seem interested in hurting him, at least not yet.

“Ruby, right?” Dean says, carefully edging into the room. “I guess we’ve never really properly met.”

A smirk plays around her lips. “Kind of rude, don’t you think? Killing a girl without being properly introduced?”

“You’re right,” Dean nods. “Well, now we have been, so next time I kill you, it’ll be perfectly proper. And this time, it’ll be for good.”

She shakes her head slowly, her hand still covering Sam’s mouth. She’s washed out, shades of grey rather than the vivid colouring Dean imagines she had in life, but she’s clearly not insubstantial. 

It’s worrisome, to say the least.

“Haven’t had much luck so far,” she says condescendingly. “I’m like a bad penny, I just keep coming back.”

“And why’s that?” he asks, still moving closer, hoping to distract her into a classic villain monologue so he can get to Sam. 

“Because I missed Sam, of course,” she replies, her eyes wide and innocent. “And I’m sure he misses me, don’t you, babe?”

There’s something almost fond in her eyes as she gazes down at Sam. It only makes her all the more terrifying, in Dean’s opinion, especially because he has _no idea_ how to get rid of her, even temporarily. 

“You been hanging around this whole time, then?” Dean asks.

Ruby shrugs. “Mostly, yeah. Your little trick with the salt and all was cute, but it’s going to take more than that to get rid of me.”

“And you, what, just thought it would be fun to let us think we succeeded?”

“Not many other ways to get my jollies, being dead and all,” she fires back. It’s seriously fucked up, but if there’s anything of the real Ruby left in her, Dean can see why Sam liked her so much. 

Dean nods slowly. “About that,” he says. “You know it wasn’t Sam’s fault, right?”

Sam makes a noise and tries to push Ruby away, but the strength she gained when they resurrected her seems to have stayed, because she keeps him still with little effort. “What?”

“You dying. It wasn’t Sam’s fault.”

“Which time?” she spits out. “All I know is, I’m dead, you’re both still here, I’m pissed. I don’t really care about your justifications, Dean.”

“So what?” Dean’s almost at the edge of the bed now. If he can somehow distract Ruby, maybe even throw himself at her, Sam might be able to get away. “This is revenge? Gonna kill us?”

“Haven’t decided yet, but it’s a definite possibility.”

That’s all the confirmation Dean needs. Sam is in serious danger, and Dean has to do something about it. 

He wishes he had anything he could use as a weapon, but his own fists will have to do. He waits until Ruby’s gaze is lowered, then hurls himself at her. 

She staggers back a step under his weight, and it’s enough for Sam to pull away and out of her grasp. She makes a vicious hissing noise, but Sam is already scrambling to his feet and away from her. 

Dean, unfortunately, is still within reach. 

She lashes out so quickly he doesn’t have time to dodge the blow, her fist connecting with his jaw with enough force to knock him back, swearing. 

“I’ve had enough of you,” she declares. “Always getting in my way.”

Her hands close around his throat, and Dean can feel himself growing faint in her hold. Dimly, he hears Sam shouting, hears a thudding noise from outside the room, and then--

The sound of a single shot.

Ruby’s hands loosen from around his neck as she turns towards the doorway. Gasping for breath, Dean does the same.

Cas stands there, his gun still pointed at Ruby. His body is tense but controlled, though there’s the faintest trace of shock on his features.

“Officer Novak,” Ruby purrs. “Someone else I haven’t officially met yet. Good aim, but bullets aren’t much use, I’m afraid.”

Cas swallows visibly. “Ruby Lockhart?”

“That’s me,” she says. “Good work, Officer. You found me.”

“I certainly did,” Cas mutters. “Now, why don’t you step away from Mr. Winchester, and maybe we can talk?”

“Boring,” she says, rolling her eyes. “God, now I have to get rid of you too. This is exhausting.”

“Or you could just leave us alone,” Dean suggests, pulling himself to his feet. “Go on a nice ghost vacation somewhere.”

“Tempting,” Ruby says, tilting her head to the side as though actually considering it. “But I think I’ll pass.”

She flicks her fingers, and Sam cries out, doubling over in pain. Dean immediately moves towards him, but she reaches out her other hand, and he finds himself frozen in place. 

“Ruby, please,” Sam gasps. “This isn’t you.”

“And whose fault is that?” she hisses. “You did this to me, Sam. You were warned about the spell, how it would bring me back, and you did it anyway.”

Cas is slowly inching forward, moving closer to Dean, his gaze flicking between him and Ruby. She shakes her head with a noise of disapproval. “I don’t think so, Officer.”

He stops, lowering his gun. “This isn’t the way,” he says, his voice steady. 

“What, like you’re going to bring them to justice?” Ruby laughs. “I don’t think so.”

They’re close now, too close. “Cas, don’t--” Dean calls out, but it’s too late.

Ruby knocks the gun out of Cas’ hand and locks her hands around his throat. She looks so small beside him, but Dean knows all too well how strong her grip is. 

“Cas!” he shouts again, but he still can’t move, trapped by whatever Ruby did to him. Sam is still coughing, a wet, pained noise that makes Dean flinch.

They’re going to die, he thinks. All of them.

Ruby is still choking the life out of Cas, a pleased smile curving across her lips as he struggles, but then, suddenly, she shrieks and steps back. Her hands, held out in front of her, are red and raw, bright against the greyness of the rest of her.

“What is that,” she says, her eyes fixed on Cas’ neck where the collar of his uniform has come askew. “What the hell is that!”

Cas, still trying to regain his breath, raises his own hand to his throat, pulling out a thin silver chain with a small medallion in the shape of the sun attached. He yanks it from his neck and holds it out toward Ruby, who flinches and stumbles back. 

“You can’t--” she starts to say, and then Cas throws it at her.

It hits her directly in the face, and she lets out an anguished wail, then disappears, the necklace falling to the floor with a noise that echoes in the suddenly silent room.

Dean can move again, and he immediately crosses over to Sam, helping him to sit on the bed as he frantically checks him over for injuries. “I’m fine,” Sam mumbles, pushing him away. “It’s over.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Cas says. He walks over and picks the necklace up from the ground, carefully placing it in his pocket. “Now would someone like to explain what the hell just happened?”

Dean and Sam trade wary glances. Sam starts to answer, but then another fit of coughing wracks his body, and Dean winces. “I’m gonna go get you some water,” he murmurs.

He looks up at Cas, pleading. “Will you watch him?”

He would have every right to say no, to storm off and never come back, or to arrest the two of them on the spot. But instead, Cas just nods. “Of course.”

Legs still shaky from the encounter, Dean descends the stairs and grabs a glass of water, pausing to take a deep breath. He glances around the kitchen warily like Ruby might re-appear at any moment, but there’s no sign of her, so he hurries back up to Sam and Cas, unwilling to leave them alone for long.

Sam takes the water gratefully, and Dean sits beside him on the bed. Cas is still standing across from them, his arms folded over his chest.

“We can explain,” Dean says weakly. 

“I certainly hope so,” Cas replies, scrubbing a hand over his face. “That was Ruby Lockhart. I recognize her from the photos on file. But she wasn’t--”

“Alive,” Dean finishes. “Or entirely human.” There’s no point beating around the bush now, he figures.

“Right.” Cas hesitates. “And that’s because of the two of you.”

Dean can hear the disappointment in his voice, and he closes his eyes against the sharp pain it sends through him. 

“It was an accident,” Sam says, voice soft. He raises his eyes to meet Cas’ gaze. “We never meant for it to--”

“No more lies,” Cas says forcefully. “I can’t-- I cannot handle any more lies. From either of you.” He looks over at Dean again, and Dean knows he’s thinking about earlier this morning, when Dean left him standing in the motel, shocked and confused.

“Alright,” Dean says, but Sam cuts him off.

“It was an accident,” he says, voice dull. “A car accident. Ruby was on her way to see me, and she’d been drinking, and she ran her car off the road. I had an app with her location, and when it stayed the same I got worried and went out there, and found the car.”

He stops for a second, the memory obviously painful. “I don’t know why I didn’t call 911. I’ll live the rest of my life regretting that. But I was panicking, and she wasn’t conscious, so I put her in my car and I drove her here. By the time we got here, she wasn’t breathing.”

Cas doesn’t say anything, his eyes fixed on Sam, but Dean thinks his expression has softened, just slightly. 

“We worked a spell to bring her back.” Sam’s voice is quiet. Ashamed. “It was my idea. I forced Dean to help me, because the spell required two people. And it worked. She came back, but it wasn’t her, not really. Her eyes were black and she was so, so strong, and--”

He trails off, and Dean steps in. “She tried to kill him. Just like she just did with you, Cas. She had her hands around his throat and he couldn’t breathe, so I tried to fight her off. I pushed her away, and she hit her head on the table. Can’t believe that was it all it took, but she was dead. Again.”

“And now she’s haunting you,” Cas murmurs. “If I hadn’t seen her, if she hadn’t been right there in front of me--”

“I know,” Dean says. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

Cas holds up a hand to interrupt him. “How do we stop her?”

Dean looks over at Sam, who shrugs miserably. “We have no idea,” Dean replies. “We thought we already had, the other night...there was another spell, a banishing spell, and she disappeared for a few days, so we thought it worked.”

“And now she’s back, and more pissed off than ever,” Sam adds. 

Cas nods. “These spells you keep mentioning. They’re from books here in the house?”

“Yes,” Dean says. 

“And this is your uncles’ house,” Cas continues.

“Yes,” Dean says again.

“Call them,” Cas orders. “Get them back here as soon as possible. We need all the help we can get.”

“We?” Dean echoes, the tiniest spark of hope igniting in his chest. Cas isn’t running away, he isn’t locking them up. 

“I’m not letting anyone else die,” Cas says firmly. “Not if there’s anything I can do to stop it.”

God, he’s too much, standing there with his jaw determined and his eyes bright, ready to take on a being whose existence he would have vehemently denied only an hour before. Dean wants to swoon like some romance novel heroine, but now isn’t the time.

“It’ll take them a few hours to get back from the cabin,” Sam says worriedly. 

Dean knows exactly what he’s thinking. What if it’s too late?

“We’re not leaving you alone,” he promises. “I’m going to get Ellen and Jo out here too.”

“Good,” Cas says approvingly. “The more minds, the better.”


	13. Chapter 13

It’s probably a good thing that Dean is too worried to overthink the phone call he has to make to his uncles. There’s no time to worry about how they’ll react, because every minute he wastes is one more that Ruby can use against them.

He takes a deep breath and dials Bobby’s number. He picks up on the second ring. “What’s wrong?”

No fooling him, Dean thinks. “You need to come home. Now.”

“Rufus!” he hears Bobby shout. “Get the truck started.” Then he turns his attention back to Dean. “Wanna tell me what we’re walking into?”

“The ghost of Sam’s girlfriend is haunting us,” Dean says bluntly. “And I think she’s out for revenge.”

There’s only a slight pause on the other end of the line. “The missing girlfriend,” Bobby says. “Not so missing anymore. Do not let Sam out of your sight, you hear me? We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” Dean ends the call, letting out a shaky sigh of relief. They can do this, he tells himself. They have to.

Sam’s life might depend on it.

Ellen and Jo arrive within half an hour, and Dean gives them a quick rundown of what’s going on. Ellen smacks him sharply on the arm, mutters something about “damn fool boys” under her breath, and charges up the stairs to check on Sam, who remains under Cas’ watchful eye. 

Jo just crosses her arms over her chest and gives Dean a look that, quite frankly, scares him almost as much as Ruby did. “You should have told me,” she says quietly.

“I know,” Dean replies with a sigh. They could have used Jo’s help. Honestly, he should have told his entire family what was going on from the minute Sam called him, panicked and babbling. They would have avoided a whole lot of trouble that way.

Though her posture remains combative, Jo’s eyes soften. “He’s gonna be okay, right?”

“Yes,” Dean answers firmly. They both need to hear it right now. “You and Ellen are here, Bobby and Rufus are on their way, probably breaking every single speed limit. They’ll know what to do.”

“Yeah,” Jo says. “Yeah.” She takes a deep breath and follows her mother up the stairs.

Dean stays where he is, leaning against the wall in the hallway. It’s probably pretty crowded up in Sam’s room right now, and he’s itching to do something other than just wait around, but he doesn’t know what. 

He just wants this to be over.

“How are you holding up?”

He opens his eyes to find Cas looking at him, concerned. He didn’t even hear him come down the stairs.

“Peachy,” Dean replies wearily. 

Cas just looks at him for a minute longer, then gently closes his hand around Dean’s arm and steers him outside. The fresh air feels good against his face, and Dean lets it fill his lungs, reviving him.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” he asks after a moment, glancing over at Cas. “You just almost got choked to death by the ghost of the woman you’re trying to find because of me.”

“I’m good at compartmentalizing,” Cas says dryly. 

Dean is startled into laughter. “No shit,” he remarks. “Seriously, man, you’re handling this freakily well.”

Cas shrugs loosely. “Any argument I may have made about the existence or non-existence of magic seems useless now. I guess I started believing right around the time I shot Ruby and she didn’t even flinch.”

“And you’re just...going to roll with it?”

“I have to,” Cas says, face turning serious. “I’m still working the case, Dean. The facts have changed, but there’s still a job for me here. People to protect.”

“It’s not your responsibility to protect us,” Dean protests. “We screwed up. We’ll handle it.”

“Oh, right. Because you’ve been doing so well so far.” There’s only gentle mockery in Cas’ voice, no real heat.

Dean kind of wants to smack him, but also kind of wants to kiss that look right off his face. 

Which reminds him…

“Cas?” he asks tentatively.

“Mmn?”

“How did you know? To come out here? That we were in trouble?”

He almost certainly saved Dean’s life, arriving when he did. But considering the way Dean left his motel room earlier, what would have made him come after him in the first place?

Cas pushes a hand through his hair, leaving it in even more of a disarray than usual. “I didn’t,” he says softly. “I just...didn’t want to leave things that way, with you. I wanted answers.”

He looks at Dean, tensing like he’s expecting some sort of blow. “I still do.”

Dean would give anything not to have this conversation, but Cas deserves to know. Especially after all that he’s done to help. Well, at least he already believes the whole magic thing now. It should make this conversation the slightest bit easier. 

“When I was a little kid, maybe thirteen, I decided I never wanted to fall in love,” Dean says. “You know how you figured out that all the people who marry into this family die?”

Cas nods, eyes fixed on Dean’s face.

“It’s a curse,” he explains. “Whosoever dares to love a Winchester is cursed to die.”

A slight frown appears on Cas’ face. “So everyone…”

“My mom died when I was four,” Dean says quietly. “Bobby lost Karen, Rufus lost Monica, Ellen lost Bill…” He pauses and swallows before continuing. “I lost Benny.”

“So you’re trying to protect me?” Cas asks gently. 

It’s impressive, how quickly he puts the pieces together, but Dean supposes that’s part of his job.

“Sort of,” he says. “It’s more than that, though. I didn’t just decide I never wanted to fall in love. I actively tried to prevent it from happening.”

A sad smile plays around his lips as he knocks lightly on the porch railing. “I stood out here one night, in this very spot, and cast a true love spell. I thought if I dreamed of a person who didn’t exist, I would never fall in love, and they would never get hurt because of me. More than that, I would never die of a broken heart, like my dad did.”

Dean pauses and looks at Cas, his heart racing. “But you do exist, Cas.”

A look of quiet wonder passes over Cas’ face. “You...wished for me?”

“They’ll have the name of an angel, and a face to match. They’ll have eyes as blue as the sky and as deep as the ocean,” Dean recites. “As I draw strength from the moon, they’ll draw strength from the sun, and when they say my name, it will sound sweeter than any song in the world.”

“And you didn’t realize it until this morning, when you learned my full name. That’s why you ran.” 

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “So... there’s that.”

Cas is still just looking at him, and Dean can’t read his expression at all. Is he horrified? Disgusted? Intrigued?

“So what does this mean?” he asks eventually. “For us?”

Dean laughs, a harsh, hollow sound. “It means there is no us,” he says bitterly. “It means it isn’t real. Anything you’re feeling, anything I’m feeling, it’s all just because of a spell I cast seventeen years ago.” His voice goes quiet. “It’s not real.”

He look down, then, not wanting Cas to see the pain on his face. 

“That’s bullshit,” Cas states. 

“What?” Dean looks up, startled.

“I said that’s bullshit.” Cas folds his arms over his chest and scowls at Dean. “You may have convinced me that magic is real, Dean, but you won’t convince me that the way I feel about you is anything but.”

“It feels real, sure--” Dean starts to explain, but Cas cuts him off.

“Because of a spell you cast almost twenty years ago?” He laughs. “I don’t think so. No offense to your magical ability, Dean, but I don’t believe it.”

“Cas--”

“And do you know why?” Cas steps closer, reaching out and placing his hand against Dean’s cheek. In spite of himself, Dean leans into the touch, drawing comfort from the warmth of Cas’ hand. “Because I wished for you too.”

Dean shudders, wishing he could believe that it meant anything. Wishing that it changed anything. But before he can reply, there’s the sound of a scream from inside the house, and Cas’ hand falls from his face as they both whirl and dash inside, Cas drawing his gun as they charge up the stairs. 

They skid to a stop in the doorway of Sam’s room, the scene before them like something out of Dean’s worst dreams. Ellen and Jo are both pinned against opposing walls of the room, their eyes wide and terrified, but Ruby is nowhere to be seen.

Instead, it’s Sam standing in the centre of his room, his hands outstretched and an eerie grin on his face.

“Sam?” Dean says. “Sam, what are you doing?”

“Sam’s not here right now.” It’s Sam’s voice, coming from his mouth, but it’s twisted and warped and _wrong_. “Please leave a message after the tone.”

Cas draws in a sharp breath. “Ruby,” he murmurs. “Ruby, is that you?”

“What?” Dean turns to look at him, his eyes practically bulging out of his head. “She’s--” He can’t finish the sentence. It makes him sick to even think about it.

“Possessing him,” Cas concludes. “Very impressive, Ruby. But if it’s revenge you’re after, why not just kill him and be done with it?”

“Cas!” Dean hisses. He should not be giving Ruby any ideas, not now. “What the hell.”

Cas ignores him and keeps talking to Ruby. Dean’s having a hard time looking at Sam, or Sam’s body, knowing it’s really her in there right now. 

“Let Jo and Ellen go,” Cas orders. Dean spares a brief moment to be impressed, once again, by his composure. He knows it’s partially a police thing, being trained to stay calm in stressful situations, but he also knows it’s more than that. It’s who Cas is. 

“Or what?” Ruby taunts. “You can’t hurt me. Not while I’m all wrapped up inside Sam. You wouldn’t dare risk it.”

She’s right. Dean looks at Cas in silent supplication, begging him without words not to do anything that might further endanger Sam. They’re supposed to be saving him. 

Cas is still slowly advancing into the room, and Ruby watches him with an expression of mild interest on her face. On Sam’s face. God, it’s awful, watching his brother’s features contorted with her expressions. Dean wants to rip her out of there with his bare hands. 

But he can’t risk hurting Sam. 

Dean takes a deep breath and steps forward. “If I let you take me, will you leave Sam alone?”

“Dean, no,” he hears Cas shout, but he ignores it, willing himself to look directly at Ruby. 

“He wouldn’t have been able to do this to you without me,” Dean continues. “You want revenge, I know. But you loved Sam. At some point. If there’s anything left of that love, let Sam go. Take me instead.”

Ruby tilts her head-- Sam’s head-- to the side, considering Dean’s words. Cas tries to grab for him, to pull him back, but Dean shakes him off. He can’t look at Ellen and Jo, still against the walls on either side of the room, frozen and silent. 

He’s doing this for all of them. He can’t let them stop him. 

“It’s an interesting idea,” Ruby muses. “You’ve got a nice body, there, Dean. I bet I could have a lot of fun with it before I killed you.”

Dean shudders, trying not to imagine Ruby’s idea of fun. “Yeah,” he says, managing to keep his voice level. “Whatever you want.”

He’s glad Sam isn’t here for this, honestly. Out of anyone, he’d be the most likely to be able to persuade Dean not to do this. He’d be pissed at Dean for even suggesting it in the first place. But he’s not here right now, and that’s the whole problem. 

All his life, Dean has looked out for his little brother. If doing so means giving up his own life, Dean will do it. 

“Take me instead,” he says again. “Please. Just let Sam go.”

Ruby opens her mouth to reply, but before she can answer, Cas strikes her over the head with the heavy end of his gun. Her eyes roll back, and she crumples to the ground, unconscious. 

Dean blinks, then falls to his knees beside his brother’s body. He finds a pulse easily enough, but still looks up at Cas accusingly. “You could have killed him,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” Cas replies tightly. “And no, Dean, I know what I’m doing. I knew the blow would merely knock him out. Or her. His body, her spirit.”

He bends down and places his necklace around Sam’s throat. At Dean’s questioning look, he just shrugs. “The body is unconscious, but I doubt it had any effect on Ruby as a spirit. Maybe this will keep her subdued until we figure out our next move.”

“What’s so special about that necklace?” Ellen asks, staggering towards them. She holds out an arm to Jo, who collapses under her shoulder, clearly still shaken from the encounter with Ruby.

“I have no idea,” Cas says, frowning down at Sam’s body. “It belonged to my grandmother, and it was passed down to my father and then to me.”

“Symbolic protection?” Ellen mutters, bending to take a closer look at it. “Silver, powerful warding. The sun, driving away darkness? I don’t know, but it’s a strong combination. We’re lucky you had this.”

“Yeah, lucky is the word I’d use to describe us right now,” Dean mutters. “How the hell did she get control of him like that? Weren’t you watching him?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, boy,” Ellen says, rising to her feet and scowling at Dean. “We didn’t take our eyes off him for a second, did we, Jo?”

Jo shakes her head vehemently. “I don’t know how it happened,” she says, her voice smaller than Dean has ever heard it. “One second everything was fine, and the next, we were up against the wall and Sam was just….not Sam anymore.”

Dean sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Great,” he mutters. “So we have no idea how she did this.”

“She could have been possessing him this whole time, waiting for the right moment to show herself,” Cas says thoughtfully.

“Not helping,” Dean informs him. 

“Enough,” Ellen says wearily. “No more squabbling. The question is, what do we do now?”

They all turn to look at Sam’s body, still crumpled on the floor. They don’t know how to get Ruby out of him, and they can’t hurt her while she’s hiding inside him. 

“Tie him up,” Jo says after a moment. Her face is set, her eyes hard. “Nice and tight. Then we wait for Bobby and Rufus to get back. They’re the best with spells, we shouldn’t try anything without them.”

“You’re not an expert?” Cas asks Ellen.

She shakes her head, like she’s disappointed in herself. “Not anymore,” she admits. “Been too busy running a bar to work on my spells lately.”

Cas nods. “Then yes,” he says to Jo. “I think waiting for your uncles to arrive would be prudent. As would keeping Sam restrained. Downstairs, I think.”

“We’ll go get some rope,” Ellen says, leading Jo towards the stairs. 

“You’re quiet,” Cas comments after they’ve gone, looking over at Dean. 

Dean shrugs. “Sorry, I’m not exactly jumping for joy at the thought of tying my little brother to a chair so he can’t hurt anyone, including himself.”

Cas watches him for a moment. “Were you really going to do it?” he asks eventually.

He doesn’t need to be more specific. Dean knows exactly what he means.

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, I don’t even know if she would have gone for it, but yeah. Of course I would.”

“Sam wouldn’t want that for you,” Cas tells him, his eyes intense. There’s an unspoken second part to his sentence, but Dean hears it anyway: _I didn’t want that for you_. 

“I know,” Dean replies. “But I had to try, Cas. I had to.”

Part of him wishes Ruby had just accepted his offer. It would have been simpler that way. But he can’t help being relieved that Cas stepped in when he did. Dean doesn’t want to die, even though he was willing to for Sam’s sake. 

“So, uh, thanks,” he mutters awkwardly. “For making sure it didn’t matter in the end. Me trying, or not.”

“You’re welcome,” Cas says gravely. 

There’s a charged moment, the two of them standing so close to one another. Dean wants to fall forward into Cas’ embrace, to press his face into the crook of his shoulder and let everything else fade away, but there’s still no time. 

He clears his throat and bends down beside Sam’s unconscious form, brushing the hair off his forehead. “Let’s get him downstairs.”

Between the two of them, they carry Sam down into the living room, where they prop him gently in one of the armchairs. Jo and Ellen have found a decent amount of rope, and they wind it around Sam’s body, securing him to the chair as best as they can. His breathing remains steady, and Dean watches him warily, but he shows no sign of moving. 

“Now what?” Ellen asks once Sam is well tied down.

“Now,” Dean says, “we wait.”


	14. Chapter 14

It’s a few more hours before Dean hears the familiar rumble of Rufus’ truck rolling up towards the house. He bolts out of his chair, rushing out to the porch to greet his uncles and give them a better explanation of what they’re about to walk into.

“Where’s Sam?” Bobby demands immediately.

“Inside.” Dean pauses for a second, then figures there’s no point trying to be delicate. “Except it’s not Sam. Not really. We’re pretty sure Ruby is possessing him.”

“Possessing him,” Rufus repeats flatly. “What the hell did you boys get yourselves into?”

“A shit ton of trouble,” Dean answers with a wince. “Which is why we need your help.”

Bobby and Rufus exchange knowing glances and enter the house without another word. Dean trails behind, relieved that they’re here but feeling suddenly useless. 

They come to a halt when they enter the living room and see Sam, however, with Jo and Ellen and Cas keeping close watch over him. Dean can’t blame them-- Sam looks terrible, slumped over in the chair with a tangled mess of rope keeping him contained, his hair covering his face.

“Shit,” Rufus mutters under his breath. “Bobby, get the books. Now.”

Bobby ignores him, though, stepping closer to Sam with a look of distress on his face. He reaches out one hand, and Dean opens his mouth to warn him, but it’s too late.

Sam’s head snaps up, but it’s not Sam looking at them. “Hey,” Ruby drawls. “The gang’s all here, huh.”

Bobby stumbles back, swearing, and Ruby laughs. It sounds more like her now than it did before, but her voice is still filtered through Sam’s broad chest, making it at once familiar and yet entirely wrong. Dean shudders at the sound. 

“Bobby, get the books,” Rufus repeats. “And you,” he turns to Ruby, “shut the hell up.”

“Nice,’” she says. “I can see where your nephews get their manners from.” 

Rufus starts to reply, but it’s Cas who makes the first move, grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket and casually tying it over Sam’s mouth. Surprisingly, it seems to work, reducing Ruby to dramatic eye rolls rather than snarky commentary.

It also has the side-effect of dragging Bobby and Rufus’ attention away from Ruby (and Sam) for the first time since they entered the room. 

“What,” Bobby says slowly, staring at Cas, “the hell are you doing here?”

“What needs to be done,” Cas replies tightly. 

It’s an accurate summary, really. Cas has been saving their asses this whole time, mostly because he’s the least sentimental about Sam and therefore the most willing to make moves the rest of them wouldn’t dare. Like this one.

“We can talk about that later,” Dean says firmly, looking between his uncles and Cas. “For now, let’s deal with the more immediate problems, okay?”

“I can’t think with her staring at me like that,” Rufus complains. 

“Well, we can’t leave her alone,” Ellen says.

“I’ll stay.” 

Dean looks at Jo, surprised by her offer. “What?” she says. “I don’t do much of the magic stuff, you know that. I’ve got nothing to contribute. So I’ll stay in here and keep an eye on her, you guys go figure out how to send her packing.”

“Let’s get to it, then,” Ellen says, herding them all towards the kitchen. Bobby disappears for a moment and comes back with one of the oldest books from the library, dropping it onto the table with a heavy thud.

“Before we get started,” he says, his eyes fixed on Dean, “I’m going to need to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

“No way we’re getting a second chance at this,” Rufus adds with a nod. “So we have to get it right.”

Dean fidgets for a second. He doesn’t want to admit all his mistakes, all the times he should have asked for help, all the times he let things go until it was too late. He feels Cas’ hand squeeze his lightly under the table, and he takes a deep breath.

“She was already dead when Sam got her here,” he begins. “Car crash. He thought we’d be able to help her more than a hospital, I don’t know, it made sense to him at the time.”

“Damn fool,” Ellen murmurs. “But we all do stupid things in our grief.”

“Yeah, well, it got a lot stupider from there,” Dean says. “He didn’t want to accept that she was gone. We all know how that feels.” There’s a chorus of murmured agreement from around the table. “He said he was going to bring her back. I tried to stop him, I really did, but he said he would try it alone and I knew how risky that was and--”

His voice breaks, and he looks down at the table.

“You brought her back,” Bobby says. “Damn it, Dean.”

“I know!” Dean looks up at him, wild-eyed. “I know. It didn’t even take five minutes for her to snap once she was breathing again. She attacked Sam, got her hands around his throat and tried to choke him to death. I managed to pull her away, and she smacked her head off the table, and then she was dead. Again.”

“So it’s no regular haunting, then,” Rufus says. “It’s not actually Ruby’s ghost, it’s the ghost of what she became after you brought her back. Something not entirely human.”

“Well, that explains why our first attempt at banishment didn’t work,” Dean mutters. “Great.”

“You already tried to banish her? Without our help?” Bobby’s tone is sharp, and Dean hears the accusation in it. 

“Yes,” he sighs. “And we thought it worked. She left us alone for a few days. And then, this morning, I came home and she was back.”

“Came home from where?” Ellen frowns.

There’s an awkward silence as Dean hesitates, sneaking completely unsubtle glances at Cas, who doesn’t seem at all perturbed as the others turn to look at him with interest on their faces.

“Oh,” Ellen says after a moment. “That...Okay, then.”

“So like I said,” Dean continues, all too aware of the flush in his cheeks, “she was here, taunting Sam, threatening him, all that crap. And then Cas showed up and tried to shoot her and that didn’t work, and there was a scuffle, and eventually he managed to fight her off with his necklace.”

“His necklace?” Bobby asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Yes,” Cas answers. “It’s with Sam now. You can examine it later, if you’d like.”

“I think we may need to,” Bobby mutters. “So how the hell did she end up _inside_ Sam?”

Ellen speaks up, picking up the story where Dean left off. “Jo and I came over as soon as Dean called us. We were with Sam, and all of a sudden, he turned on us. We don’t know how or when she took over. Had us pinned against the walls, Dean and Cas came running, Cas knocked her out, and we tied her up.”

“And that’s where we’re at now,” Dean concludes.

Bobby sighs heavily and opens the book. “Banishing a ghost is one thing,” he says. “You boys already figured that one out. But she’s no regular ghost, and she’s gonna be a lot harder to get rid of.”

“But you can do it, right?” If Bobby and Rufus can’t find a way, no one can. Dean doesn’t want to consider that possibility.

His uncles trade uncertain glances, but don’t reply. 

“Fuck,” Dean mutters. They really screwed things up this time. Under the table, Cas squeezes his hand again, and Dean clings to him, desperate for that grounding touch.

It takes almost an hour of poring over various books, Bobby and Ellen and Rufus bickering back and forth, for them to find a solution. Dean has drifted in and out of the room, checking on Jo and Sam, getting drinks, anything to keep himself busy. 

Finally, Bobby looks over at Dean. “Do you have any friends?” he asks.

“What?” Dean frowns at him. “Friends?”

Rufus nods. “We’re going to need more than the people we have here. Twelve would be best.”

Dean does a quick count. There’s him, Cas, Ellen, Jo, Bobby, and Rufus, which makes six. They need six more people? He doesn’t have friends, really, other than Charlie. But maybe she can help…

“I’ll find enough people,” he promises. “What should I tell them?”

“Whatever will get them over here quickest,” Rufus says grimly. “We’d better act fast.”

Excusing himself, Dean steps out onto the porch and calls Charlie at the store. “Good afternoon, Oak and Honeysuckle, how can I help you?” she answers cheerily. 

“Hey,” Dean says. “Look, I don’t have time to explain, but I need you to close the store and get over to my place as fast as you can.”

To her credit, Charlie doesn’t even hesitate, though Dean can hear the confusion and concern in her voice. “You got it,” she says. “Do you need me to bring anything?”

“A few more people would be great,” Dean jokes weakly. 

“Kevin’s here with his mom. I’ll offer them a discount if they come with me.” 

Before Dean can reply, the line goes dead. He blinks at it for a second, then shrugs. Kevin Tran is a regular customer of theirs, an over-stressed high-school student who relies on their relaxation line to get through exam season. He’s pretty sure Charlie can convince him and Mrs. Tran to accompany her, discount or no discount, and Dean will be glad to see them. 

Three down, three to go. 

He scrolls through his contact list, noting how woefully short it is. He really should have tried harder to make social connections with people outside his own family. Before he can make another call, though, his phone lights up with an incoming call from a number he doesn’t recognize. 

“Hello?” he says warily.

“Dean?” It’s Missouri’s voice. “You need me to bring anything with me?”

“What? How did you--”

“Not the time, son,” she says briskly. “I’m leaving now, and I’ve got Alfie here with me. We’re on our way.”

Dean may never find out exactly how Missouri knows he needs help, but right now, he’s too grateful to care. “Thank you,” he says, and she hums in acknowledgement before hanging up.

Just one more person. Dean hesitates for a moment, then dials the number for the old restaurant.

Elizabeth picks up, just as he’d hoped. “Hi,” he says, his throat tight. They don’t talk much anymore, and Dean never goes in. There are too many memories there. But Elizabeth is a good person, warm and caring just like Benny was. Dean instinctively knows she’ll do anything she can to help.

“This is going to sound a bit out there,” he says with an awkward laugh, “but there’s something going on, and I could really use your help out at my place.”

“Okay,” Elizabeth answers slowly. “Right now?”

“Please,” Dean says. 

“Okay,” she repeats. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

With a sigh of relief, Dean puts his phone away. They’ve got twelve now. He has a sneaking suspicion that this was the easy part. 

The door creaks open behind him, and Dean turns to see Cas coming to join him. “Were you able to round up a crew?” Cas asks. 

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “Thankfully.”

“That’s good.”

The silence between them is only slightly strained, and Dean marvels once more at how well Cas is handling all of this. “You’re going to stay, right?” he asks suddenly. He knows Cas said he would see this thing through, and he also knows he has no right to even ask, considering the whole true-love spell being responsible for Cas’ feelings towards him, but…

Dean doesn’t think he could make it through this without him. 

“Of course,” Cas murmurs, taking a step towards him. “Dean, I--”

They’re interrupted by Ellen, who sticks her head out the door and gives them a sharp look. “We need you inside,” she says, and Dean sighs. He and Cas are going to have to talk about this, eventually, but the timing never seems to be right.

They follow Ellen back inside, where Bobby and Rufus are hard at work, grumbling to themselves and to each other as they move in perfect sync. It brings a smile to Dean’s face, in spite of everything going on. 

This is going to be him and Sam someday, he hopes. Old and cranky and _together_. This is the future they’re fighting for. 

“What can we do?” Cas asks, rolling up his sleeves. Dean takes a second to admire the defined muscles of his forearms before dragging his gaze back to Bobby, who gives him an exasperated look, clearly having caught Dean’s attention wandering. 

“You’re on door duty,” Bobby says, pointing Cas back to the front of the house. “Dean, you got your friends coming?”

Friends is a loose term, but Dean nods anyway. “They’re on their way.”

“Good,” Rufus replies. “Now you let Officer Blue Eyes take care of them, and you get over here and help me with this.”

With one last long look at Cas, Dean goes to help his uncle, mixing together a truly vile-smelling concoction in the largest copper pot they own. “That’s nasty,” he comments, wrinkling his nose. 

“What, you think we’re going to banish her with rainbows and sunshine?” Rufus snorts. 

Dean scowls but continues to do as he’s told. He figures he owes his uncles several sarcastic comments without sass in return. In fact, he owes them a lot more than that.

People start filtering into the kitchen as they work: first Charlie with Kevin and Linda Tran in tow, Charlie unsurprised by the quick explanation Dean gives her, Kevin’s eyes going wide, and Linda immediately joining Ellen in her work. He catches Cas’ eye and smiles as the doorbell rings again, this time revealing Missouri and Alfie, one of her young employees, on the other side. Elizabeth joins them not long afterwards, quiet and hesitant, but she’s here, and that’s what matters. 

It’s a bit surreal, having them all here in his kitchen, casually conversing about magic and spells and ghost possession. They’ve always had to keep this side of their lives closed off, at least until someone becomes a paying customer, and it’s like the curtain has suddenly been completely drawn back. Linda and Ellen are chatting away to Missouri as they mix herbs, Cas is talking to Alfie about why he thinks his necklace was able to repel Ruby, and Elizabeth is helping Bobby gather and light as many candles as possible. 

Maybe, Dean thinks to himself, this is the real magic. People working together towards a common goal. 

“Alright,” Bobby says, clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “We’re as ready as we’re ever going to be. Now, let’s get rid of this ghost once and for all.”


	15. Chapter 15

They file into the other room, and Dean hears the sudden chorus of shocked gasps and muttered oaths as they all take in the sight before them. Sam’s body looks even worse than before, flesh rubbed red from the ropes digging into him and eyes wild above the gag. 

“Oh, that poor boy,” Missouri murmurs. “Don’t you worry, Sam. We’re going to get that nasty thing out of you, I promise.”

Bobby clears his throat. “If you could all make a circle around the edges of the room,” he instructs. “Good, just like that.”

They assemble themselves in a loose circle around the chair that holds Sam and Ruby. Dean stares straight into his brother’s face, knowing it isn’t Sam looking back at him. But it will be soon.

“Now, I’m going to give each of you a candle. I want you to hold it out in front of you with both hands. That’s right, just like that,” he says with an encouraging nod to Alfie, whose hands shake slightly as he accepts his candle. 

“Dean?” Rufus is looking at him expectantly. “We’re going to have to take that gag out if we want to force the spirit out.”

Right. Of course. “What about the necklace?” Cas asks. 

“Leave it,” Rufus replies. “Maybe it will weaken her.”

Dean squares his shoulders and approaches Ruby warily. Her eyes focus on him with a threatening glint, and he shudders. His hands tremble only slightly as he removes the gag from her mouth, and he backs away quickly.

“Much better,” she says with a sigh, looking around the room with interest. “Well, well, the gang’s all here. Not going to do much good, I’m afraid.”

Kevin looks nervous, but Charlie sets a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “She’s bluffing,” she murmurs.

“Am I, though?” Ruby challenges. “Guess we’re about to find out. This is exciting. Most fun I’ve had since I’ve been dead.”

“Shut up,” Jo says fiercely. “God, you’re obnoxious. We’re going to send you straight to Hell, you know that?”

“I doubt it, little cousin,” Ruby says, voice dripping with condescension. “No, I’ve got my claws buried deep in poor little Sammy’s chest. If you want me gone, you’re going to have to do a lot more damage to him than I think any of you are capable of.”

“Enough,” Bobby says sharply. “Everyone, in position.”

Dean is standing between Cas and Missouri, and at Bobby’s signal, they all raise their candles slightly, the flickering lights casting strange shadows over the room.

Ruby, mercifully, has fallen quiet, watching the proceedings with keen interest but offering no further commentary. Dean is grateful for that, at least. He’s sick of seeing her use Sam’s body, hearing her corrupt Sam’s voice. 

“ _By flame and candle’s light, we banish this darkness from our sight_ ,” Bobby recites. “ _With love and with grace, we return this evil to its rightful place_.”

He gives them an encouraging nod, and Rufus soon joins him, followed closely by Ellen and then Dean. The others are slower to pick up the rhythm, but after a few more repetitions, the entire circle is chanting in unison, twelve voices raised in defense of one of their own.

“ _By flame and candle’s light, we banish this darkness from our sight. With love and with grace, we return this evil to its rightful place_.”

It takes a while for Ruby to start laughing, almost as though she’s indulging them, letting them think their words are accomplishing anything. “Cute,” she says. “But you’re going to have to try harder.”

Bobby’s eyes harden, and he produces a pinch of some powder from his pocket and sprinkles it over his candle. The flame turns violently purple, and Ruby shrieks, her head snapping back against the chair.

“Pass this along,” Bobby tells Rufus grimly. “And keep chanting.”

As they each add the mixture to their candles, Ruby thrashes against the ropes that hold Sam’s body in place, letting out wails that grate on Dean’s ears. He knows this is necessary, he knows they have to focus on the end and not on the means, but that’s still his brother’s body contorted in obvious pain. 

When the bag of powder reaches him, he hesitates. Ruby, gasping for breath, locks eyes with him and smirks. “Told you you wouldn’t be willing to do the damage,” she says around a deep cough. “Poor, protective Dean. You got Sammy into this mess, and now you can’t even summon the nerve to get him out of it? He’s better off with me.”

It’s her last sentence that snaps Dean back into action. “He is not,” he says emphatically. “If you can hear me in there, Sam, I’m so sorry.” His flame turns purple, and Ruby shrieks again, but this time, Dean watches, grim-jawed, as she twists and turns in the chair. 

No matter how much pain they seem to cause her, by the time they’ve gone around the circle, Ruby is still there, eyes glittering darkly and malevolently. Bobby looks worried, Dean notes, and an unpleasant feeling settles in the pit of his stomach.

It isn’t working. At least not well enough. 

“Again,” Bobby says tightly. 

“Bobby…” Rufus murmurs. “It’s risky.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Ruby says gleefully. 

“We have to try.” Bobby’s face is set in pained lines, but there’s determination in his eyes. 

Dean wishes they had a way of knowing what Sam wanted. Of asking him to make the decisions about his body, his life. But Ruby took that autonomy from him, and now they’re stuck doing the best they can to get it back for him. Meaning they have to be the ones to make the hard choices.

Bobby repeats his earlier gesture, and the purple flame seems even more intense this time around. Ruby’s shrieks are certainly more piercing, something Dean didn’t even think possible. Everyone is still chanting, but the words are beginning to sound ominous to Dean’s ears rather than encouraging.

By the time Missouri’s candle goes purple, Ruby is slumped over, only broken little groans spilling from Sam’s lips. It’s Dean’s turn, but he’s once again frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes away from the centre of the room. 

“Dean.” Bobby is looking at him expectantly. They all are. But Dean doesn’t respond, too many thoughts racing through his mind.

He doesn’t trust Ruby, but what if she was telling the truth? It’s clear that she’s more powerful than even Bobby and Rufus were anticipating. What if casting her out would prove too much for Sam? Their job is to save him. Dean holds the tiny amount of powder above his candle uncertainly, then swallows roughly and lets it fall.

The noise that tears itself from Sam’s throat will haunt Dean for the rest of his life.

And somewhere in it, Dean hears his name.

He drops his candle to the floor, uncaring, as he darts forward and lets Sam’s body fall into his arms. Bobby tries to call him back, but Dean ignores him. That was Sam. He knows it was. His brother is still in there somewhere, and he’s hurting. Because of them.

“Sam?” he asks frantically, raising Sam’s head to look into his eyes. “Sammy?”

“Dean.” It’s barely more than a whisper, but it’s Sam. “Dean, you have to let me go.”

“What are you talking about,” Dean says roughly, untying the ropes that bind Sam to the chair. “Just hang in there, Sam, you’re going to be okay.”

“No,” Sam says, a cough contorting his entire body. “I can feel her, Dean. She’s weak, but she’s still here. This isn’t working. And I’m getting weaker too.”

He looks awful, skin pale and eyes bloodshot. But Dean refuses to admit defeat. “Just a little while longer,” he says. “You gotta hold on just a little while longer, okay?”

Sam closes his eyes wearily and lets his head rest on Dean’s shoulder. “Just let her take me.”

Distantly, Dean thinks he hears someone crying, but all he can concentrate on is Sam.

“No way,” he states. “No way, Sam. We’re going to keep fighting.”

“She’s too strong,” Sam murmurs. “The longer this goes on, the angrier you’ll make her. Just let her take me, and maybe she’ll leave you alone.”

This is what Dean wanted, Sam being able to make his own decisions. But he isn’t ready to give up quite yet. Not on Sam.

They’ve made it this far. They’ve survived broken hearts and more grief than one family should ever have to endure. They’ve kept their brotherly bond intact even through years of separation. They’ve always looked out for one another, and that isn’t about to end now.

“Do you trust me?” he asks Sam, gripping him tightly by the shoulder. 

“Of course,” Sam says shakily. “Dean, what are you--”

Dean raises his voice so the others can hear him. “I need a knife.”

“What?” Rufus asks, but Dean doesn’t turn to look at him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m saving my brother,” Dean says, voice steadier than he feels. “A knife, now.”

A familiar hand settles on his shoulder and Cas leans down beside him, pressing a small pocketknife into his hand. Dean spares him a grateful glance, and Cas nods, his gaze steady and encouraging, then returns to his place in the circle.

Dean takes a deep breath and drags the blade over his palm. The blood wells up, bright in the candlelight. “My blood,” he says, and Sam looks up at him with the barest glimmer of hope in his eyes. 

He stretches out a shaking hand, and Dean makes a matching cut across his palm, already scarred from the times before. “Your blood,” Dean says. 

He takes Sam’s hand in his own, grasping it with all his strength. 

“Our blood,” they say together. Sam’s voice is weak, but Dean can be strong for the both of them. 

There are years of history held in their joined hands. Years of support and encouragement and laughter and tears. Years of love. The strongest magic in the world. 

Sam gasps, but not in pain. His grip tightens in Dean’s, and Dean feels a quiet thrill of hope. 

“Everyone, join hands,” he hears Bobby instruct behind him. “One more time.”

Dean looks down into his brother’s face, sees Sam gazing back at him, and he smiles as they recite the words of the spell. 

“ _By flame and candle’s light, we banish this darkness from our sight. With love and with grace, we return this evil to its rightful place_.”

In the silence that grows as the last words fall from their lips, Dean hears something like a sigh. Sam sputters, his hands flying to his chest, and a thick grey fog spills from his throat, gathering in the air above him before solidifying into the shape of a young woman.

The figure hovers for a moment, and then dissolves into ash.

But before Dean can let out a joyful shout, another figure materializes behind Sam. He tenses, prepared to pull him away, but Sam raises a hand to stop him.

“Ruby?” he says, eyes wide.

It looks like Ruby, but not the Ruby that stood before them a moment ago. Her eyes are softer, and her smile is beautiful. She doesn’t say anything, but she reaches out and presses her hand to Sam’s cheek. He leans into the touch, and Dean can see the faint glimmer of tears on his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Ruby,” Sam murmurs. “I miss you so much.”

She bends and places a single kiss on his forehead, and then she too is gone, disappearing without a sound.

Dean doesn’t even know what to say. Fortunately, Rufus can always be counted on to break a silence.

“Is that it?” he demands.

Sam looks at Dean, smiles, and wipes the tears from his cheeks. Dean sighs shakily and pulls him to his feet, gathering him in a tight embrace. “It’s over, Sam,” he whispers. “We did it.”

“We all did,” Sam says, pulling away to look at everyone still gathered in the circle around them. “This wouldn’t have been possible--” He pauses and clears his throat. “This wouldn’t have been possible without all of you. Thank you.”

Ellen beams at him, and there are shiny marks on her cheeks as well. “Get over here,” she says with a little laugh, and Sam steps forward into her arms. 

With that, everyone relaxes, setting down their candles and blowing them out. Dean stays where he is, observing with a smile, still too stunned to move.

“You did it,” Cas says, coming to stand beside him.

“We did it,” Dean corrects him. He licks his lips nervously. “Cas, seriously, I can’t thank you enough for--”

“No need,” Cas interrupts with a gentle smile. “I’m just happy that Sam is safe. And that Ruby has found peace.”

“Not quite,” Bobby mutters. 

Dean looks up at him, tense. “One last thing to do,” his uncle reminds him. “Get the broom, Dean.”

“Gladly.” Dean fetches the old broom from the kitchen and diligently sweeps up the ash that settled on the floor, then carries it outside at Bobby’s instruction. Sam and Rufus bring out the copper pot of the mixture that they prepared earlier, and as Dean dumps the ash onto the ground, they pour the liquid overtop. 

“Well, that oughta do it,” Rufus says. “That piece of nastiness is gone and good riddance.”

“Good riddance,” Sam echoes. His gaze wanders across the yard, towards the spot where Ruby is buried, and Dean places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Do you want a moment?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I think so.”

Dean nods and ushers the others back inside. He glances over his shoulder and sees Sam drop to his knees in front of the place where Ruby is buried, and he looks away, guilty for intruding on such a private moment. 

Sam will need time, he knows. He never got a chance to properly grieve for Ruby, but he has one now. And Dean will be there to support him in whatever way he can. 

He goes back inside with a smile on his face, surrounded by the warmth and love of his family and friends, and for the first time in weeks, Dean’s smile doesn’t feel forced.


	16. Chapter 16

People slowly drift away in small groups over the next hour, first Kevin and Linda, with apologies, “but Kevin has to get his cello practice in today.” Sam thanks them, and offers to give Kevin a hand with his college admissions essays when the time comes, making Kevin’s eyes light up in gratitude. 

Elizabeth leaves next, and after Dean thanks her for coming, there’s a slightly awkward pause, but then she seems to come to a decision and sweeps him up into an embrace. “I know it’s hard,” she says softly, “but if you ever feel up to it, I’ll have a slice of pecan pie waiting for you at the restaurant.”

“I might take you up on that,” Dean replies. The thought doesn’t hurt as much as it once would have.

Rufus and Missouri are arguing about something or other, Alfie standing unobtrusively behind them, and eventually she huffs and walks away, placing a hand on Sam’s cheek and staring deep into his eyes.

“You’re going to be alright,” she tells him, and Sam just nods.

Charlie lingers a while longer, talking to Jo and Ellen, but when Dean catches her yawning for the third time, he gently pushes her towards the door.

“This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me in real life,” she says with a little laugh. “God, it’s exhausting.”

“Tell me about it. After all this, I think I need to sleep for a week,” Dean says.

Her gaze turns serious. “Just let me know how much time off you need, Dean, for real. You need a break.”

“Thanks, kiddo.” He folds her into a fond embrace, and with a last little wave to the others, she’s gone.

The only people who remain are his family, and Cas. Cas, who’s been chatting easily with Bobby, something Dean thought he would never see. 

“Hey,” he says, coming over to join them. “Pretty much everyone is gone.”

Bobby looks around, surprised. “Well, now what?”

It’s a good question. Dean shrugs, unsure. But Cas is the one to speak up.

“I’d like to speak with Sam,” he says. “Alone.”

Bobby opens his mouth, most likely to refuse, and Dean slips into protective mode, ready to insist that whatever Cas has to say to Sam he can say in front of all of them, but Sam shakes his head at both Bobby and Dean.

“It’s fine,” he says, giving them a reassuring look. “Can we have the room for a minute?”

Rufus grumbles, Ellen and Jo send Cas matching threatening looks that would make lesser men quail, Bobby huffs, and Dean just swallows heavily and follows them back into the kitchen, glancing back over his shoulder as Sam and Cas sit down.

So much of their time and energy has been devoted to saving Sam in the most basic sense of the word that Dean has forgotten about the very real, very serious implications of all that’s happened. Cas knows everything now, knows that Ruby is dead and that to some extent Sam is to blame. Not murder, but manslaughter, maybe? If he wants to arrest Sam, he’d certainly have reason, even leaving aside everything that happened after Ruby died the first time.

And Dean knows how strongly Cas believes in the justice system, how badly he wanted to accord Ruby the respect of finding out what happened to her and ensuring that justice was served. They may have saved Sam’s life, but his future is still in jeopardy.

Everyone else seems to be thinking the same thing. The kitchen is nervous and quiet, all of them lost in their own heads, suddenly feeling like their victory may be short-lived. 

After about fifteen minutes, the low murmur of voices from the other room gains volume as Sam and Cas come to join them in the kitchen. Dean immediately looks to his brother, checking for signs of distress, and finds none. Sam is still pale, but he’s smiling, and his shoulders are relaxed. 

He doesn’t look like a man who’s just been told he’s under arrest for the death of his girlfriend.

“Well,” Cas says, looking at them all in turn. “It’s been quite the adventure, meeting you all. I’ll never be able to think of Sioux Falls the same way, that’s for certain.”

“It’s quite the town,” Jo agrees, giving him a sharp look. “But hey, we make good burgers.”

“You do indeed,” Cas says with a smile. “Perhaps I’ll be back for one, someday.”

There’s a chorus of goodbyes from the others at the table, but Dean stays quiet. Cas gives him a meaningful look as he places his hand on the doorknob, and Dean follows him out onto the porch. 

“So, you’re leaving town, then,” he says, struggling to keep his voice steady.

“Yes.” Cas doesn’t elaborate, just looks at Dean like he expects him to fill in the blanks himself. When Dean doesn’t reply, Cas sighs and explains. “There’s paperwork that needs to be filed, edges that need to be smoothed, all that bureaucratic nonsense.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean says, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you going to tell them?”

“Nothing,” Cas says firmly. “Well, that’s not accurate. I’ll tell them Sam has an alibi. That I found no signs he was involved in Ruby’s disappearance. No signs of her ever being in this town. The case will go cold.”

“And you think that will work?” Dean asks skeptically. It sounds too good to be true.

Cas shrugs, a little sadly. “More cases go unsolved than I’d like to admit. And Ruby had no family who will continue pressing for information.”

“Won’t that bother you, lying like that?”

“Under other circumstances, absolutely. But now…” Cas shrugs again. “I know Ruby is at peace. I know Sam never meant to hurt her, that you never meant to hurt her, and that you’ve both suffered greatly as a result of one little mistake. To me, the case is closed.”

Dean exhales deeply, stunned. “Thank you,” is all he manages to say.

“Once all the paperwork is done, though,” Cas continues, and for the first time, he sounds hesitant, “I would like to come back.”

“Come back?” Dean repeats. “Why?”

There’s confusion in Cas’ eyes. “To see you,” he says slowly. “I thought--”

Oh, no. Dean knows exactly what he thought, and it’s too dangerous to even consider. “Don’t,” he pleads, not wanting Cas to say anything else, anything that Dean will have to tear down, anything that will make Dean hurt him.

“I don’t understand,” Cas says. “I thought there was something between us, Dean.”

“Sure,” Dean says with a hollow laugh. “But it’s not real.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t believe that?” Cas’ voice has gone low and urgent. “I don’t care that you cast a spell when you were a teenager, Dean. What was it, the name of an angel and blue eyes? Do you know how many people named after angels there are in the world, Dean? Thousands. It could have been any of them. It doesn’t matter.”

Dean wants to believe him. He does. He wants to think that what he feels for Cas is natural and human and the kind of lightning-bolt that strikes everyday people if they’re lucky. But even if that were true..

“That’s not all,” he reminds Cas. 

Cas draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. “The curse.”

“The curse,” Dean echoes. “Say our feelings are real. It’s something, sure, but it’s not love. Not yet. If you come back to see me, if we spend more time together…” He looks away, lost in the possibilities. Cas transferring to Sioux Falls to work here. Dean moving out of his uncles’ house into a small, cozy place with Cas. Finally getting a chance to uncover every inch of his body, to wake up with it pressed against his own. 

Until one day, it all gets torn away from him.

“I won’t do that to you,” he says. “I’m not having your death on my conscience, Cas.”

“I know it must have been hard, losing your husband,” Cas says gently, and Dean flinches. “I understand why you’re afraid, Dean. But even without a curse, I have a dangerous job. I could be shot, I could be stabbed, I could be in an accident. A million things could happen to me.”

“But none of those would be my fault!” Dean shouts. He lowers his voice, hoping no one comes to check on them after hearing raised voices. “I couldn’t bear it, Cas. Not just losing you, but knowing it was because of me.”

That was the whole point of the spell. Dean never wanted to fall in love for two reasons: so no one would ever die because of him, and so he would never die of a broken heart the way his father did. It’s selfish, but it’s also not. He’s looking out both for Cas and for himself. 

“I see,” Cas says slowly. “So what you’re saying is that you don’t consider me worth the risk.”

He looks so hurt that Dean starts to reach for him before drawing back, uncertain. “God, no, Cas,” he says fervently. “It’s the exact opposite, don’t you see? You’re worth _everything_ , and that’s why I can’t be with you. I’m bad news, Cas.”

He gestures towards the house. “You saw what happened in there. This all started because of the curse. Ruby died _because of the curse_. If that isn’t enough to make you believe, what is?”

Cas shakes his head stubbornly. “No, that’s not how I see it,” he insists. “What I saw in there was nothing short of extraordinary, Dean. I saw love and strength and light defeating evil. It was enough to make me believe, but not in curses or death omens or other such doom and gloom.”

He steps forward, close enough to touch. “It was enough to make me believe that no matter how terrible things may seem, love will always find a way.” Slowly, he raises his hand and cradles Dean’s cheek.

Dean leans into the touch, closing his eyes. He wants so badly to have the same conviction Cas does, the same faith. But Cas is so new to this. He hasn’t seen the way the curse has devastated Dean’s family for years, doesn’t know the terrible emptiness that comes with losing someone you love. Dean took a risk with Benny, and he only ended up burned. He won’t do it again. 

Especially not to Cas.

He lifts a hand to his face, placing it over Cas’. There’s a brilliant hope shining in Cas’ eyes, but as Dean slowly pulls their joined hands away, he watches it fade away to nothing. Dean swallows heavily and reluctantly lets Cas’ hand fall. 

“I can’t,” he says.

“Can’t, or won’t?” Cas asks.

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not,” Cas murmurs. He shakes his head, almost as though he’s disappointed. “Very well. I won’t try to convince you further, Dean. I’ve told you where I stand, and I know where you stand. I have to respect that.”

He takes a deep breath. “I wish you well, Dean,” he says quietly. “Truly. I hope someday you find happiness.”

Dean can feel the slow trickle of tears down his cheek, but he can’t move to wipe them away, frozen under the weight of Cas’ gaze.

With a last nod, Cas turns away and descends the steps towards his car. Just before he reaches it, he looks back over his shoulder at Dean.

“Curses only have power if you believe in them,” he says. “And I don’t.”

Dean closes his eyes. He hears Cas’ engine start, and by the time he opens his eyes once more, Cas is gone. 

His knees give out on him, and he sinks onto the porch steps, straining to hear the fading sound of Cas’ car as it moves away from him forever. Distantly, he’s aware that he’s getting cold, but it doesn’t seem to matter right now. 

He’s convinced that he did the right thing. He just wishes that the right thing didn’t have to be so damn hard. 

He’ll find the strength to get up in a few minutes. He’ll go back inside, check on Sam, properly express his gratitude to Bobby and Rufus for saving the day, hug Ellen and Jo. He’ll go back to work with Charlie, they’ll figure out the new ordering system. He’ll visit Missouri and maybe ask her how she knew that they needed help. 

But for now, he just tries to hold onto the feeling of Cas’ hand, warm against his cheek, and push aside the memory of the look on his face when Dean told him it could never be.


	17. Chapter 17

Things slowly go back to normal.

Dean gives himself two days off, which he mostly spends sleeping, then goes back to the store. Charlie gives him concerned looks and hovers protectively, but doesn’t ask any questions, for which Dean is grateful. He isn’t really ready to talk about any of it yet. About Ruby, or about Cas. 

After a week, Sam starts coming in to help them at the store as well. Dean’s glad to have him there, glad to have him nearby, and glad to see the way Sam smiles more and more with each passing day. Something changed in the town after everything that happened, a new feeling of acceptance that greets the Winchesters wherever they go. Privately, he’s amused by it, but it seems to do wonders for Sam, who needs that casual affection and steadiness now more than ever.

Sam is sleeping better, going for runs in the morning, playfully arguing with Bobby and Rufus about updating the appliances in the kitchen, but he still has a long way to go. One night, as Dean lies awake gazing out the window at the shining moon, he hears Sam’s footsteps on the stairs. Frowning, Dean gets out of bed and follows, finding him in the kitchen, putting on the kettle for tea.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Can’t sleep?”

Sam shakes his head and grabs a second mug as Dean takes a seat at the table.

He hasn’t pressured Sam to talk about it, knowing how much he hated that after he lost Benny. But he also thinks it will be healthy for Sam, so he waits patiently, and he’s soon rewarded.

“I just wish I’d gotten a chance to say goodbye,” Sam says, not meeting his eyes. “It’s over now, and I think I’ll come to terms with it in time, but I never really--”

“I know.” Dean’s throat is tight. It happens so fast. There and then gone in the blink of an eye. “But at the end there…”

“Yeah.” Sam smiles sadly. “Seeing her again-- the real her, not that other _thing_ , it felt good. Knowing she’s at peace.”

“And someday you will be too,” Dean tells him. “Maybe not today, maybe not this week, maybe not even this year. But Sam, you’re…” He laughs. “God, this is going to sound so cheesy, but you’re the strongest person I know, okay? You’re going to find your own peace.”

“Here?” Sam says, pouring their tea. 

“If that’s what you want.”

“I think it might be.” Sam breathes in the steam from his tea, looking contemplative. “I’ve got the youthful wandering out of my system, I think. I love going to different places, the freedom of it all, but this will always be home.”

Dean is glad to hear it. Especially now, it’ll be good to have Sam close by. 

“Bobby and Rufus will be thrilled,” he says. 

“And what about you?” Sam asks.

Dean frowns. “Of course I’ll be thrilled too.”

Not meeting his eyes, Sam says, “Even after all the trouble I caused?”

“Jesus, Sam,” Dean mutters. How could he possibly think that? “What, you think I’m _mad_ at you or something?”

Sam just shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I fucked up, Dean. And I wasn’t the only one affected by it.”

“Stop it,” Dean says sharply. “Yeah, you fucked up. And you were punished way more than you deserved. If you think for a second that I would have preferred that you went through that alone, I don’t know what the hell you’ve been smoking.”

Sam is startled into laughter. “I quit smoking,” he reminds Dean. 

“Then you’ve got no excuse.”

A shaky smile plays around Sam’s lips. “Okay,” he says, and it’s enough. 

“I mean, I’ll probably start complaining the minute you take too long in the shower or yell at me about always listening to the same music, but yeah, I’ll be happy to have you back,” Dean says.

“And I'll be happy to be here. It’s different around here now, have you noticed?” Sam asks. “People smile at me on the street more instead of just whispering and looking away.”

Dean nods. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say last week had something to do with it.”

“What, like everybody knowing with one hundred percent certainty that we’re not a normal family actually made them accept us?” Sam doesn’t look convinced. 

“Not that.” Dean sips his tea, trying to figure out how best to explain it. “It’s more like...they always suspected, and some of them knew. But we were always so secretive about it, and I think that made them afraid. Now, the way gossip spreads around here, I’m sure they’ve all heard exactly what went down.”

“And why wouldn’t that make them more afraid?”

Dean thinks back on what Cas said during their last conversation. “Because yeah, they saw some scary shit, but they also saw us overcome it. They saw a family doing everything they could to save one of their own. And that’s something everyone can relate to, I think.”

Sam nods slowly. “That actually makes sense.”

“I mean, I’m not saying we’re going to get a statue in the town square or anything,” Dean laughs, “but it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Sam agrees. 

They drink the rest of their tea in comfortable silence until Sam starts to yawn. “Go to bed,” Dean tells him. 

“Yeah.” Sam stands and places his empty mug in the sink, then turns to look back at Dean. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but thank you, Dean.”

“You don’t have to--”

“I do, though,” Sam says. “And not just for saving me. But for this, too.”

Dean nods, his throat tight. “Anytime,” he says. “I mean that, Sam. If you want to talk about any of it, the good, the bad, the ugly, you know where to find me.”

He thinks it would be good for Sam to remember some of the good times, too. He won’t pressure him, but he’d like to hear more about Ruby, what she was like when she was alive. To honour her in that way. 

“Goodnight,” Sam says.

“Goodnight,” Dean replies.

He sits at the kitchen table for a long time after Sam goes to bed, thinking about Ruby, about Benny, about Cas. About the joys and the pains of love. About Sam’s future, and about his own. He wishes they didn’t have this experience to bring them closer together, but there’s nothing he can do to change that. He can only move forward from here, and hope Sam does the same.

***

He should have expected it, really. Bobby and Rufus have been giving him strange looks for weeks now, like they’re waiting for him to snap somehow. Dean doesn’t really know why-- Sam’s fine, or at least on his way to being so, no one’s going to jail, everything is going back to normal. But his uncles don’t seem to agree.

Which is why, one day after work, he comes home to find them waiting for him in the living room, matching expressions of anticipation on his face.

“Jesus,” Dean mutters. “What is this, high school all over again? What, did I miss curfew?”

“Very funny,” Bobby says. “Sit down, Dean, we need to talk.”

He’s thirty years old, but he still sits down quickly, just like a kid. Dean realizes he’s pouting like a little kid as well and quickly adopts a more neutral expression.

“What’s going on? Is Sam okay?”

“Sam’s fine,” Rufus says. “He’s over at the Roadhouse, far as I know. Which is why we wanted to take this chance to talk to you.”

“Me?” Dean still doesn’t understand. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bobby says. “Just the fact that you’ve been sulking around here for almost a month now, and it’s starting to get old.”

“I have not been _sulking_ ,” Dean protests. 

“Sure you haven’t,” Rufus snorts. “All those wistful little sighs, staring out the window, looking at the door like you’re expecting someone to knock any minute.”

“Pining might be a better word,” Bobby suggests. 

“I’m not pining either!” Dean exclaims. “Who have I got to be pining for, huh?”

His uncles trade exasperated glances. “Gee, maybe that tall dark and handsome police officer who saved all of our asses about a month ago?” Rufus says sarcastically.

Cas. It’s true, Dean has been thinking about him. Quite a lot. Apparently his uncles are more perceptive than Dean realized. 

“Shut up,” he mutters, flushing. 

“What happened?” Bobby asks, his normally gruff voice gone gentle. “The way you two were looking at each other, I thought for sure he was going to stick around, or show up here again within a few days.”

Dean sighs. He doesn’t really want to relive that last conversation, but he knows Bobby and Rufus are concerned for him, and they deserve to know the truth.

“I sent him away,” he says quietly. “He wanted to come back, and I told him not to.”

“Why the hell would you do a thing like that?” Rufus demands.

“Because of the curse, why do you think!” Dean shouts, getting up from his chair to pace around the room. “Because I’m not going to watch him die because of me.”

Bobby purses his lips. “Did you tell him that?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “I told him about the curse. And you know what he said? He said he didn’t care. That curses only have power if you believe in them, and he doesn’t.” He laughs bitterly. “As if that changes anything.”

“It changes everything,” Rufus says slowly. “He’s right, you know.”

Dean stops pacing and turns to look at him. “What?”

“He’s right,” Rufus repeats. “This is basic stuff, Dean. Magic only works if you believe in it, and a curse is just another form of magic.”

“So what, we could have broken the curse all along if we chose not to believe in it?” Dean snorts. “Yeah, sure, like it’d be that easy.”

“Nothing easy about it,” Bobby tells him. “Nothing easy about love at all. But the curse...we’ve always had it in the back of our minds. Wondering when it was going to claim another victim. Hoping to God it didn’t, but never truly thinking we could be spared.”

“We never told anyone about it,” Rufus says quietly. “I was afraid if Monica knew, she would leave me. And she would have been right to. But I kept hoping…”

“And hope isn’t the same as belief,” Bobby continues. “If Karen knew...I like to think she would have dismissed it. She would have laughed it off and kissed my cheek and told me I was a fool. And maybe she would have lived.”

Dean rubs his head, which aches with all the new information he’s absorbing. “So you think because Cas knows about the curse and isn’t scared of it, it won’t affect him?”

“It’s a good start, but that won’t be enough,” Bobby warns. “If you still believe in it, there’s still a danger there.”

“So I have to choose--”

“Choose to believe in something stronger,” Rufus says with a crooked smile. “Choose to believe in yourself, and in him.”

“That’s not so easy either,” Dean mutters, dropping back into his chair. 

“Now what are you on about?” Bobby sighs.

“It’s not just the curse,” Dean admits. “It’s the spell.”

“The love spell you cast when you were a kid?” Rufus asks, rolling his eyes.

“You knew about that?” Dean is really going to have to revise his understanding of his uncles’ perceptiveness. They’ve never said anything about it before, so he assumed only he and Sam knew. 

“Of course we knew,” Bobby snorts. “All the ingredients missing, the smell of it in the air even the next morning. So what, Cas is the one you dreamed up back then?”

“Looks like,” Dean says. “Which means this isn’t even real.”

“God, you’re even more dramatic than your dad,” Bobby mutters under his breath. “Of course it’s real.”

“But I cast a spell to make him fall in love with me, and vice versa,” Dean argues. “It’s not like we had much choice in the matter.”

It hurts even thinking about it. He doesn’t want to remember the way it felt when he realized Cas was the one from the spell, the simultaneous joy and despair of that moment.

“How exactly do you think that spell works, huh? It creates a person out of thin air to embody all the things you tell it to?” Rufus shakes his disapprovingly. “By the look of him, I’d guess your officer is a few years older than you. So he already existed, Dean. It’s not like he was summoned to be a puppet for you.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Dean says tightly. “But it still made him fall in love with me, didn’t it?”

“Did he tell you he loved you?” Bobby asks, eyebrows raised.

“Well….no,” Dean admits. “Not yet.”

“Exactly. Because _amas veritas_ isn’t a guarantee of love, Dean. It’s a wish for it. Some wishes come true, others don’t.”

“But from the minute we met, I felt something between us,” Dean argues. “If that wasn’t the spell, then what was it?”

“Do we need to send you back to health class?” Rufus asks. “Pure, natural, emotional and physical interest. Happens all the time.”

“Now it sounds like you’re telling me it isn’t real in a different way,” Dean sighs. “Like it’s nothing special at all.”

“It’s the most special thing in the world,” Bobby says. “The purest kind of magic. But it didn’t happen because of a spell. The spell predicts, but it doesn’t promise.”

Dean frowns. “Like Missouri’s visions?”

“Exactly.”

“Cas said there were thousands of people who could fit the description I gave in the spell,” Dean says quietly. “That it could have been any one of them.”

“Smart boy,” Rufus says approvingly. “Look at it this way, Dean. You cast that spell hoping you would never fall in love, right?”

“Yes.”

“But you did,” Bobby reminds him. “Long before you met Cas.”

Dean nods shakily. 

“And if you believe that the spell is the only thing that makes love true, what does that say about you and Benny?”

Dean immediately opens his mouth to protest, then realizes what Bobby is saying. “Benny wasn’t the one in the spell, and I still loved him. So the spell--”

“Predicts, but doesn’t promise,” Bobby repeats, smiling. “That’s all you, Dean. You fell in love with Benny despite your best efforts, and it looks like you’re headed that way with this Cas fellow too. Don’t get so caught up in your head, boy. Listen to your heart.”

It’s difficult advice to swallow. Dean has built a wall around his heart from a young age, and like Bobby said, he’s only let it weaken a few times. The first ended in tragedy, but if what they’re saying is true, it doesn’t have to this time around.

“You wouldn’t lie to me about this,” he says, looking between the two of them “You wouldn’t tell me this if you didn’t believe it yourselves.”

“Of course not,” Rufus says firmly. “Dean. There’s a good man out there, just waiting for you to take a chance on him. On yourself. What are you going to do about it?”

Dean inhales deeply. What they’re saying, it’s so close to what Cas said during their last conversation. That Dean needs to be the one to take a risk. He looks around the room, the safe little life he’s carved for himself in the years since Benny’s death. He’s content, but he’s also willing to admit that he’s lonely. 

He and Cas barely got a chance to get started. With all the other crap going down at the same time, it was hard to ever feel like anything about their situation was normal. Maybe Dean owes it to both of them to see what normal could look like for them. 

He stands up. “I’m going to go to Rapid City,” he announces.

“Finally,” Bobby says under his breath. “Idjit.”

Dean just smiles at him. “Thanks, Uncle Bobby. And you, Rufus.”

“Get out of here,” Rufus says, fighting to conceal his grin. “Go get your man.”

Dean bounds up the stairs to pack a bag, already looking up driving times and reasonable motels. He’s not going to be afraid any longer.

Cas is worth the risk.


	18. Chapter 18

It’s already too late to make the drive to Rapid City, so Dean goes to bed early, surprised at how easily he manages to fall asleep despite the nervous excitement running through his veins. He wakes up optimistic, whistling to himself as he makes a pot of coffee and fills his travel mug. Bobby and Rufus pretend to be cranky about his cheerfulness, but it’s clear they’re happy for him too.

Sam comes down the stairs just as Dean is ready to head out the door. He gives Dean’s bag a curious glance, then a slow smile spreads across his face. “Going somewhere?” he asks casually, leaning in the doorway. 

“Shut up,” Dean mutters. 

Face turning serious, Sam says, “I’m happy for you, Dean.”

“Don’t get your hopes up yet,” Dean warns. “He could still turn me down.”

“I highly doubt that.” Sam reaches and gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “You deserve this, Dean.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Dean takes a deep breath and picks up his bag. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” his brother says, and then Dean is on his way.

It’s a beautiful day for a drive, the autumn sunlight streaming in through the windows as the Impala rumbles beneath him, barely audible over the sound of the stereo. Dean sings along at the top of his lungs, heedless of the other cars passing and the strange looks from their occupants. 

After just under five hours, he finds himself passing the sign that welcomes him to Rapid City. He glances down at the directions on his phone, and soon arrives in front of the main police department. Parking the Impala is a bit of an ordeal on the narrow streets, but he’s had plenty of experience. Passers-by on the sidewalk give him glances both curious and admiring as he steps out of his car, which he returns with friendly smiles. It’s nice, being unknown for once.

There are a few people bustling around the station, but it’s early afternoon on a weekday, so chaos levels are low. Slightly disappointed that he doesn’t immediately spot Cas, Dean approaches the front desk and waits for the receptionist to acknowledge him.

Eventually, she lifts her head and gives him a long, calculating look. “Welcome to Rapid City Police Department, how can I help you?”

Dean glances down at the nametag on her desk and summons his most charming smile, the one he uses on customers at the store. “Hi, Meg. I’m looking for Officer Novak. Would it be possible to speak with him?”

One dark eyebrow raises with interest. “Officer Novak,” she repeats. “May I ask who’s looking for him?”

“Just a friend,” Dean says with a shrug. 

“Nice try,” Meg replies. “Name, please.”

Dean drops the smile and sighs in exasperation. “Dean Winchester.”

Meg’s eyes widen and she leans forward. “Dean? From Sioux Falls?”

Has Cas been talking about him? Suddenly nervous, Dean just nods.

“Oh, this oughta be good,” Meg murmurs. “Wait here.”

She gets up from behind her desk and disappears down the hallway. Dean looks around the room for a minute, unsure, and eventually stays where he is. 

After about five minutes, Meg returns, but this time she’s not alone. About two steps behind her, wearing his uniform and a look of pure shock, is Cas.

“Dean?” he asks, eyes wide and wondering. “What are you--”

Well aware that they have an audience, Dean fights back the instinct to step forward and sweep Cas into his arms. Instead, he just smiles and says, “Hey, Cas.”

“My office, we can talk there,” Cas says, gesturing Dean forward. Meg brushes past him with a wink as she returns to her desk and Dean follows Cas down the hallway and into his office, closing his door behind them.

“Sorry about the surprise,” Dean says, suddenly awkward in the silence between them. “I just--”

“It’s fine,” Cas says. “I mean, it is a surprise, but it’s fine.” His eyes pass slowly over Dean’s face like he’s confirming that it’s really him, that he’s really there, and Dean feels a pang of regret knowing that Cas has probably been missing him this past month. 

All his carefully planned speeches have completely disappeared from his mind. But Dean just summons his courage and says, “I’m sorry.”

Frowning, Cas asks, “For what?”

“For being afraid,” Dean says gently, and he sees the light of hope suddenly appear in Cas’ eyes. “For sending you away.”

Cas nods slowly. “Thank you,” he says. “Is that...is that all you came here to say? It’s an awfully long drive for one apology.”

Dean laughs. “No,” he says. “Of course not. An apology isn’t worth much if you don’t follow it up with any action.”

“Then why are you here?”

The question hangs heavily in the air between them. Dean looks at Cas, the scattered disorder of his office, the drooping plant in the window. He thinks of the way Meg clearly knew something about what happened between them, the way the other officers all stopped to watch with interest as they spoke. 

Cas has a life here. A good one, from what Dean can tell. He doesn’t want to jeopardize that, but he owes it to both of them to take this leap.

“I wanted to know if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight,” he says. 

Dean has seen Cas face down vengeful spirits without batting an eye, and yet this is what makes him lose his composure. His jaw drops, and he sputters for a second before swallowing heavily and trying again. “Like a date?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. He steps forward and reaches out to take Cas’ hand in his. “Look, we never got a chance to have a normal conversation, did we? Always getting interrupted, always having your investigation looming over us...I want to give this a chance, Cas. And I think maybe dinner is a good place to start.”

Finally, Cas smiles. “That sounds nice,” he murmurs. “I’m off at five.”

“Can I pick you up here?”

“No,” Cas says, looking down at his uniform and grimacing, “let me go home and change first.”

“If you insist,” Dean says. “But honestly, I kinda dig the uniform.”

Cas laughs, and it’s one of the most beautiful sounds Dean has ever heard. “Incorrigible,” he mutters under his breath. He rummages around on his desk and produces a piece of scrap paper, scribbling something down then passing it to Dean. “Pick me up at six.”

Dean glances down and sees Cas’ address and phone number on the paper. He tucks it into his pocket and smiles at him. “Sounds perfect.”

“Now get out of here,” Cas says. “I have to at least pretend to do my job for the next few hours.”

“Okay,” Dean replies. He hesitates, then leans forward to kiss Cas’ cheek. “See you at six.”

When he glances back as he’s stepping out of the office, Cas is holding a hand to his cheek, smiling. 

He stops at Meg’s desk and notes with some amusement how he doesn’t have to wait to get her attention this time. “So,” he asks, “where’s the best place for dinner around here?”

“I’m flattered,” she drawls, “but I’m not interested.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“He likes Rosalie’s,” Meg offers. “And he seems to like you, a lot, so don’t mess this up, okay?”

“I won’t,” Dean says firmly. It’s not only a promise to her, but to himself. 

“Thanks for the gossip,” she calls out as he turns to leave. Dean waves in acknowledgment, then heads back to his car. 

He finds the restaurant Meg mentioned and steps inside to make a reservation, then goes in search of a motel. He isn’t going to make any assumptions. He and Cas are starting fresh, in a way, and Dean is determined to let things unfold naturally. It’s the only way they’ll know for sure what this thing between them really is. 

He still has a few hours before he has to leave to pick Cas up, so he wanders around the town for a bit, popping into a few small local stores and a cozy cafe before returning to his room to shower and change. If he takes a few extra minutes picking out his clothes and fixing his hair, well, there’s no one here to judge him for it. 

He sends a quick text to Cas as he leaves, letting him know he’s on his way, and fifteen minutes later he’s pulling into his driveway. Cas’ house isn’t particularly large, but the yard is well-maintained and it gives off a sense of comfort, just like his office did. Dean takes a deep breath and knocks on the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

He hears the clatter of his footsteps and then Cas is pulling the door open, slightly out of breath and sockless, his dark grey shirt crookedly buttoned. 

“Hi,” Dean says, gaze immediately drawn to the hollow of Cas’ throat left exposed by his rushed buttoning. “Sorry, am I early?”

“No, no,” Cas assures him, “I just lost track of time. Give me five more minutes.”

“Of course,” Dean says. 

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back,” Cas says, disappearing down the hall, presumably to finish getting dressed. 

Dean looks around the entryway and open living room with curiosity as he waits for Cas to return. There are books everywhere, a few plants like the one in his office, and a number of framed photographs of the same group of smiling people, likely Cas’ family. 

He’s smiling at one of Cas, clearly on the day of his graduation from police academy, when he hears Cas step back into the room. Dean turns, and his mouth goes dry at the sight of him.

Cas’s shirt is properly buttoned now, fitting closely to his wide shoulders and lean waist. His black slacks hug every line of muscle in his thighs, and Dean thinks he might faint if they flatter his ass in the same way. He’s smiling crookedly, patient under Dean’s admiring gaze. 

“I’m ready,” he announces needlessly, but it’s enough to snap Dean back to attention. 

“Cool,” he says. “Let’s go.”

They chat lightly on the quick drive to the restaurant, Cas answering all of Dean’s polite questions about his day, his co-workers, how he likes the town. It’s comfortable, but it’s also very clearly superficial. Dean doesn’t mind, though. They need a reset, in a way, and this feels like any other first date he’s been on. They can leave the hard conversations for later. 

The place Meg recommended is a trendy but casual little bistro, and Dean’s glad he thought to make a reservation earlier because it’s packed. The hostess leads them to a table in the corner and Cas looks at him, pleased, as they take their seats.

“You did your research,” he comments.

Dean shrugs. “I think it’s best to be prepared.”

After their server, who seems to know Cas both as a regular and as a fixture around town, takes their drink orders, Cas folds his arms on the table and looks across at Dean, his expression inquisitive.

“I need to know,” he says softly. “Why now?”

It’s a fair question. It’s been a month since they last saw each other, a month with no contact whatsoever. Cas had probably given up hope of ever hearing from Dean again. 

“Took me a little awhile to get my head out my ass,” he says with a little laugh. “Well, took a bit of a talk with Bobby and Rufus, if I’m being honest.”

Cas raises an eyebrow at that. “That sounds mildly uncomfortable.”

“A bit,” Dean agrees. “But it gave me the push I needed.”

Cas fiddles with his napkin, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “You’re saying you wouldn’t have come on your own.”

Dean immediately starts to protest, but when Cas looks up at him, rueful, he just shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know. I wanted to, Cas. Don’t ever doubt that. I wanted to chase after you the second you left. Hell, I never wanted you to leave in the first place.”

“But you thought it would keep us both safe.”

“Yeah.”

Their server returns with their wine, and Cas smiles and chats politely with her while she fills their glasses. Once she’s gone, he returns his attention to Dean.

“So what changed?”

Dean looks around, hesitant to start talking about curses and true love spells in a public place, but all the other guests seem absorbed in their own conversations, and they’re seated slightly out of the way.

“I got a little lesson in the way magic works,” he says. 

Cas takes a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. “What did you learn?”

“That you were right.” Dean smiles at him. “That curses only have power when you believe in them.”

“And you don’t, all of a sudden?”

“It’s not that simple, I know,” Dean says. “I can’t just wake up one day and say the curse no longer has power over me. But what I can do is choose every day to believe that it doesn’t. Choose every day to believe in something stronger.”

“I see,” Cas says. His expression is neutral, and he takes a long time before speaking again. Dean’s heart hammers in his chest as he waits. “And this something stronger...you don’t think it’s because of a spell anymore?”

“That’s kind of what this is all about,” Dean confesses, waving a hand at their surroundings. “Just you and me. No spells, no curses, no spirits set on revenge, no investigations. Just us.”

Finally, Cas smiles. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Dean repeats. “What does that mean?”

“It means, okay, let’s continue with our evening, then. No spells, no curses, just us. And some wine, and some candlelight, and some good food. The usual things that lend an overly romantic air to any evening.” Cas’ tone is teasing now, and Dean grins at him, relieved. 

“Shut up,” he says, blushing slightly. “So. Tell me more about your life here, Cas. It seems like a great town, from what I’ve seen of it.”

“It is,” Cas agrees. “I’ve been here for about ten years now, and I love it.”

“You didn’t grow up here?”

“No, I was born in Illinois,” Cas says. “But this was where I got a job, so I moved out here on my own.”

“Don’t you miss your family?” Dean still can’t really imagine living anywhere than Sioux Falls, living anywhere without his family only a few minutes’ drive away. 

Cas shrugs. “We visit, we call, we Skype. And like you said, it’s a great town. I’ve never felt lonely here.”

“You and Meg seem close,” Dean comments, and it’s not until the words have left his mouth that he realizes it sounds like he’s jumping to conclusions about their relationship.

Judging by the grin on Cas’ face, he’s well-aware of Dean’s consternation. “She’s a good friend,” he replies evenly. “And no, we haven’t slept together, since you’re so clearly wondering.”

“I wasn’t--” Dean says, but stops at Cas’ look. “Okay, maybe a little. She’s pretty protective of you, you know.”

“I know,” Cas answers, still grinning. “When she told me you were there to see me earlier today, she had a number of creative ways to get rid of you if I didn’t want to talk to you.”

Dean feels himself pale slightly at the thought, but quickly turns serious once more. “Thank you for that, by the way,” he says. “You would have had every right to refuse to see me.”

“I considered it,” Cas says dryly, “but I think I made the right choice.” He pauses for a second, sipping contemplatively at his wine. “I thought to myself, after all the lectures I gave him about having faith, about taking a chance, what kind of hypocrite would I be to give up so easily? I don’t deny that I was hurt when you told me to leave that day, Dean, but maybe this time apart was good for both of us. I think it gave us both a bit of perspective.”

“Well, cheers to that,” Dean says softly, raising his glass to clink it lightly against Cas’.

The more the evening goes on, the more convinced Dean becomes that he also made the right choice, coming here. He and Cas talk easily, laugh easily, all the way through their meals and their bottle of wine. 

By the time their server brings them a dessert menu, Dean’s eyes lighting up at the sight of four-fruit pie, he knows with absolute certainty: this is real.

“The pie is excellent,” Cas informs him. “I think you’ll like it.”

Dean nods eagerly at their server, who smiles back, clearly charmed, and offers to bring them two forks, winking as she walks away.

They’ve kept to mostly light subjects, exactly the way people on a first date would, but Cas suddenly looks hesitant as he voices his next question. “How’s Sam doing?”

If Dean wasn’t already convinced that Cas was a good thing for him, that concern for his brother would have done it. “He’s doing well, considering,” he says, smiling softly as he thinks about Sam’s progress over the past month. “Helping out at the store a bit, getting back into his routines. It’s going to take time, but I think he’ll be okay.”

“He’s lucky to have you to look out for him,” Cas says.

Dean laughs and shakes his head. “As I remember it, we were both lucky to have you to look out for us.”

Cas flushes slightly, but he looks pleased. It’s an incredibly endearing look on him, and feeling bold, Dean reaches across the table and takes hold of his hand. “I’m still kind of amazed that we’re here,” he admits. 

Squeezing his hand, Cas replies, “As am I.”

They linger a little while after they finish sharing the pie, which is just as good as Cas promised, and then they return to the car. Cas points out a few places of interest along the way, and all too soon they’re back at Cas’ house. 

“So, I thought I might stay in town for a few days,” Dean says nervously. “I know you weren’t expecting me and this is all a surprise, but if you have any time, I’d like to see you again.”

Cas just looks at him for a moment, the moonlight casting his face into sharp contrast. “I have some time right now,” he says, his voice sending a shiver of delight through Dean’s entire body.

“Cas,” he says warningly. It’s not that he doesn’t want this. God, he wants it. But he doesn’t want to pressure Cas, to make him feel obligated just because Dean showed up here out of the blue.

“Dean,” he replies, “I’m not saying anything has to happen. I’m just saying that I don’t want this night to be over quite yet.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, exhaling shakily. “I can work with that.”

He follows Cas into the house, taking a seat in the living room as Cas fetches them both a glass of water. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top again, and Dean’s eyes are drawn there immediately, a burst of electricity running through him when their hands brush against each other as Cas passes him the glass. 

“Can I ask you something?” Dean says quietly. 

“Of course.”

Dean turns to face him. “The first time we talked about the curse...you said you wished for me, too.”

He’s been wondering about it for awhile. He knows Cas didn’t cast a spell the way he did, so what did he mean by that? 

Cas smiles, a distant look in his eyes. “Maybe not quite as specifically as in your spell,” he says. “But yes. I think everyone dreams of the kind of person they hope to fall in love with. And from our earliest meetings, I saw a lot of my dreams in you.”

“And now?” Dean asks. “What do you see in me now?”

It’s quiet in the house, and Cas has only turned on a few lamps, giving the room a soft, warm glow. Dean can hear his own heart thudding in his chest as he waits for Cas to reply. 

“I see all of those childish dreams, and maybe a few new ones,” Cas says.

And that, right there, is what prompts Dean to set down his glass and reach for Cas, sliding closer across the couch so he can raise his face towards him and slowly press their lips together. It’s not about what brought them to this point, Dean realizes, whether that’s a spell or a daydream or a strange series of coincidental meetings. 

It’s about the two of them and the future they can build together. 

Cas melts into his embrace, his hands coming up to grip Dean’s shoulders and run down his back, making Dean arch under his touch. Cas chuckles darkly against his lips as he slips his tongue inside Dean’s mouth, a passionate declaration that leaves Dean reeling. 

Drawing back slightly, Cas says, “I know I said nothing had to happen tonight, but--”

“Please,” is all Dean says in reply.

Cas smiles softly at him and stands, extending a hand to Dean to lead him down the hall and into his bedroom. Dean has a second to notice the large bay window and the dark blue bed coverings before Cas’ mouth is on his again and the world narrows to this, just this. 

Deans falls back onto the bed and Cas follows, his body bracketing Dean’s as he sinks into the pile of pillows against the headboard. Dean slides his hands up Cas’ arms, across his shoulders, and down his back before coming to rest on his hips, holding him in place.

“Hello,” Cas murmurs, looking down at him. “Dean, you’re so--”

Dean surges up to kiss him again, and this time his hands move to the front of Cas’ body, clumsily undoing the buttons of his shirt and pushing it impatiently off his shoulders. Cas draws in a sharp breath as Dean’s hands trace over his newly-bared skin in gentle exploration before he lightly takes hold of Dean’s hands and raises them to his lips.

“May I?” he asks, his own hands fiddling with the hem of Dean’s soft sweater. Dean nods, sighing out permission, and helps Cas pull the garment over his head, leaving them both shirtless. 

Cas leans down to press soft kisses all over his torso, lingering over the place over his heart, and Dean’s head falls back against the pillows as Cas grazes his teeth ever so lightly over his nipple, making him hiss with pleasure. Cas chuckles and repeats the motion on the other side.

Dean thought the last time they were in a similar position had been good, but this, this is everything. It’s slower, more gentle, but no less passionate. 

He can feel Cas’ erection pressing against his slacks with the way their lower bodies are so close together, and Dean shifts his hips slightly, lining them up for a better angle. He must be successful, because Cas groans, his lips sliding over Dean’s collarbone as his concentration wavers for a moment. 

It’s addictive, watching Cas lose that cool composure of his. So, feeling impish, Dean slides his hands down and over that perfect ass of his, squeezing it gently with both hands.

“Fuck,” Cas mutters, back arching as he presses into Dean’s hands, putting all the lovely lines of his torso on display. 

Dean doesn’t want to lose the point of contact between them, but he also really, really wants them to both be naked. He moves his hands around to the front of Cas’ pants and looks up at him, waiting for permission.

“Yes,” Cas breathes. He rolls off Dean just far enough to remove his pants, Dean taking the opportunity to do the same, and then they’re pressed together once more with nothing but the thin cotton of their underwear between them, this time lying on their sides, facing each other. 

Cas pulls away for a moment and smoothes a hand over Dean’s cheek. Dean closes his eyes and leans into the touch, the amount of affection he feels in that one gesture nearly overwhelming. 

“I’m so glad you took a chance,” Cas whispers. 

“I’m so glad you waited for me,” Dean replies.

Cas’ smile is small, like a secret. “I would have waited a lot longer,” he confesses. “For you.”

There’s nothing to do but to kiss him again.

Somehow, Dean knows that Cas won’t move things further unless he asks for it. An unspoken acknowledgement that Dean hasn’t been in this position in a long time. 

Too long.

He knows what he wants. Being direct has worked out pretty well for him so far today, so he slides one hand over Cas’ side, resting it on that perfectly sculpted hip, and says, “I want you inside me.”

Cas’s eyes flare wide for a moment as he inhales sharply. “You’re sure?” he murmurs. “We don’t have to--”

“I want to,” Dean says firmly. “I want you.”

“God,” Cas says, surging forward to kiss him deeply. “Yes.”

He moves away for a moment, rummaging in the nightstand while Dean removes his boxers, tossing them carelessly aside. Cas’ eyes go wide again when he returns with lube and condom in hand, eyes immediately dropping between Dean’s legs.

He should feel vulnerable, he thinks, being completely naked in front of someone again for the first time in years. But with Cas, he only feels desired. Safe. So he slowly trails a hand down his own chest and wraps it around his aching cock, pumping it slowly as a moan escapes his lips.

“Dean,” Cas says again, watching him with no attempt to conceal his lust, “you’re beautiful.”

Dean preens slightly under his words, continuing to stroke himself as Cas gently nudges his legs further apart to settle between them, squeezing the lube out onto his fingers and sliding them down between Dean’s legs.

He loses himself in the feeling of Cas’ fingers slowly easing inside of him, too distracted by the sensation to continue touching himself. Cas presses kisses all over his body as he works Dean open, murmuring things too quietly for Dean to hear. He understands regardless, and tugs Cas’ head back up to his to kiss him once more. 

“Now,” he says. He reaches down between them and finds the condom, tearing open the package and carefully rolling it over Cas’ length, giving him a few extra strokes for good measure. Cas shudders under his touch, head dropping down to Dean’s shoulder as he fights to control himself, then gently pulls Dean’s hand away. 

Cas kisses him as he pushes inside Dean’s body, and Dean knows it’s a terrible cliché but he’s never felt so perfectly full. He gasps when Cas is completely buried inside him, hands dropping to his hips to pull him even closer.

“You feel--” Dean says shakily, and Cas just nods.

“I know,” he replies. “I know.”

As Cas moves forward, thrusting into Dean slowly and sweetly, Dean’s mind goes blissfully blank, lost in a haze of pleasure. This feels right, all the way down to his bones. 

It feels like a declaration, like a vow, like a promise. Like nothing Dean has ever felt before. 

He won’t last much longer, he knows. He reaches down between them and wraps his hand around his cock once more, stroking himself in time with Cas’ thrusts. 

“I’m close,” he warns, his breath stuttering as Cas grazes that spot inside him, lighting him up with pleasure. 

Cas lowers his head and presses a kiss to the side of Dean’s neck, enough pressure to leave a mark. “Come for me,” he whispers, and with his breath hot in Dean’s ear, Dean does. 

Still shuddering through his climax, Dean tightens his grip on Cas’ hips, urging him to go faster, deeper. 

“Cas,” he says, “let go for me. Castiel.”

He says the name like a caress, loving the way it flows on his lips, and it’s enough to tip Cas over the edge as well, body going taut as he comes. He slumps forward heavily, but Dean doesn’t mind his weight, gently stroking over his back as he attempts to regain his breath.

After a moment, Cas rolls away, kissing Dean briefly before leaving the room to fetch a cloth to clean them both up with. Sated and suddenly tired, Dean luxuriates against the soft sheets, then curls into Cas’ side as he climbs back into the bed.

Cas presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “That was…” He appears to be searching for the correct word.

“Magical?” Dean suggests. 

Cas just stares at him for a moment, expression unreadable, then reaches behind him and grabs a pillow, gently smacking it over Dean’s head.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” he mutters as Dean dissolves into helpless laughter, pushing the pillow aside and cutting off Cas’ continued grumbling with another kiss. 

He meant it, though. He thinks back to what Rufus and Bobby told him, about love and belief being stronger than any spell, and he thinks this is part of it. Choosing to be with Cas, despite the vulnerability in it. Choosing to trust that things will be different for them. 

“You’re not going to run out on me in the morning again, are you?” Cas asks. He’s joking, but there’s a hint of worry in his eyes, and Dean regrets that he ever made this wonderful man doubt himself. 

“No,” Dean says. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here.”

Cas pulls him into his arms, then, curling up behind Dean and pressing himself all along his back. Dean sighs contentedly and adjusts Cas’ arm over his stomach, relishing its weight against him.

It doesn’t take long before he hears Cas’ breathing even out, but despite his tiredness, Dean can’t seem to fall asleep. Almost like his happiness is keeping him awake. 

He slips out of the bed after maybe an hour, pulling his underwear back on and crossing the room stand in front of the large window. He notes that it’s been left open a crack despite the chilly November breeze, and smiles to himself. 

The moon is just barely visible behind the line of trees at the back of Cas’ yard, and Dean looks up at it and smiles. It was a similar moon in the sky, seventeen years ago, when he cast the true love spell. “Thanks,” he whispers to it. “I think I got what I needed most, in the end.”

“Who are you talking to?” 

Dean didn’t even hear Cas get out of bed, but he comes to join him now, pressing himself against Dean’s back and wrapping his arms around him. Dean can tell he’s still naked, the moonlight glowing on his forearms where they cross over Dean’s torso. 

“Just the moon,” he says, leaning back into Cas’ embrace. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“Cop instincts,” Cas reminds him, pressing a kiss to Dean’s bare shoulder. “What does the moon have to say?”

“I’ll tell you sometime,” Dean promises. “But for now, I think it’s our little secret.”

He can hear the smile in Cas’ voice. “Come back to bed.”

Dean turns in his arms to smile up at him. “Okay,” he agrees, and lets Cas lead him back to bed, lets Cas pull him back into his arms, and this time, Dean is asleep within minutes.


	19. Chapter 19

When Dean Winchester is thirty years old, he falls in love for the second time in his life. 

He knows it’s risky, and he knows it might end in tears. But he decides that it’s worth it, and every morning that he wakes up and sees Cas’ dark head on the pillow beside him, he knows he made the right choice. 

It’s complicated at first, but in such a normal way that it almost makes Dean laugh. There are logistical issues to work around-- they live a few hours apart, they both have jobs that they love, there’s only so much phone sex they can have before they have to meet up somewhere halfway between Rapid City and Sioux Falls, even if for a night.

Bobby and Rufus mutter under their breath and call him a love-struck idiot. Dean doesn’t bother to disagree. Ellen smiles at him and ruffles his hair and asks him when Cas will be back for another burger at the Roadhouse. Jo rolls her eyes but grins every time Dean mentions Cas.

And Sam-- Sam is supportive, quietly so at first, but with growing humour as his own recovery progresses. Soon enough he’s pointedly putting on headphones as Dean answers calls from Cas and takes his phone with him upstairs, making exaggerated faces of disgust as Dean walks away. It’s juvenile and mocking and so, so right.

There are still times when Dean worries, when he finds himself wondering how long this can possibly last. But he does his best to shake such thoughts away, to continue to live in the present, which is quite a nice place to be.

***

When Dean is thirty-one years old, he and Cas buy a house.

Cas decides to move to Sioux Falls, and is fortunately able to fill a position at the police department. It’s a grand gesture, and one that Dean appreciates deeply. He knows how much Cas loves Rapid City, but Cas just shakes his head and insists that Sioux Falls is Dean’s home, his entire family is there, and he would never wish to be the thing that took Dean away from them.

Their new house isn’t big, but it’s theirs, and that makes it special. It belonged to an elderly woman who could no longer manage the upkeep, so they have plenty of projects to work on in their spare time. There are porch stairs that need fixing, cupboards that need replacing, a bathroom that needs remodeling. 

The kitchen table that was left behind, however, is in excellent shape, well able to bear Cas’ weight as Dean backs him up and onto it their first afternoon in their house alone. They’re sweaty and disheveled and Cas’ shirt is still on, his pants thrown to the floor so Dean can stand between his legs and thrust into him steadily, the table creaking beneath them but still holding strong.

“I think we’re going to be very happy here,” Cas murmurs afterwards, when Dean has collapsed against him and Cas is lazily stroking a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, finally pulling himself to his feet and helping Cas up after him. He presses a quick kiss to his lips and feels Cas smile against his mouth. “We are.”

“Come on,” Cas says, pulling his jean back on. “I want to see what needs to be done in the spare room before we lose the light.”

Dean groans, but follows Cas up the stairs regardless. This is their house now, their own little sanctuary from the world, and they will work hard to make it just right for them.

***

After a few peaceful, uneventful, perfect years, Dean is the best man at his brother’s wedding. He is thirty-five years old, and not ashamed to admit that he cries as he watches the couple exchange their vows.

Sam met Sarah Blake a few years earlier, and he was immediately smitten. Sarah is clever and kind and has a surprisingly raunchy sense of humour, especially after Ellen breaks out the whiskey. 

When Sam first admitted to Dean that he was falling for Sarah in a way he never thought he would again, he also admitted how afraid he was. Dean nodded, and they had a long talk all through the night about the curse, about finding love again after loss, about taking chances and listening to your heart. 

Watching them now, as they dance together for the first time as a married couple, Dean is so proud of Sam he thinks his heart might burst with it. Sam has been through more than one person ought to bear, and yet here he is, holding his new wife in his arms, looking like he’s just been handed everything he’s ever dreamed of.

Cas snakes an arm around his waist and passes him a glass of champagne. “To the happy couple,” he says, and they clink their glasses together lightly, sipping the bubbly liquid as they watch the rest of the dance. 

The song ends, the audience claps, and Cas takes their empty glasses and sets them down on a nearby table, then extends a hand to Dean with an inviting smile. Helpless against the sight of him on any given day, but especially so in that form-fitting black suit and bright blue tie, Dean follows him out to the dance floor. 

They sway together, neither of them particularly skilled in this department but cherishing the closeness of the moment nevertheless. Dean rests his head on Cas’ shoulder and listens to the steady beating of his heart, smiling softly to himself.

It’s a good night to be young and in love, even for the Winchester brothers.

***

The moment Dean has been dreading comes when he is thirty-seven years old. He’s at work, testing new products with Charlie’s help, when he receives a phone call saying Cas has been taken to the hospital, shot on duty after a breaking-and-entering gone wrong.

The phone slips from his suddenly-numb fingers, and it takes him several moments to register Charlie’s frantic concern. 

“Cas was shot,” he says. His knees buckle under him and he has to grab the counter for support. “Charlie, I have to get to him.”

She manages to get him out to his car and slides behind the wheel, heading for the hospital. Dean barely notices, too lost in a series of increasingly worried thoughts. He was shot. Cas was shot. Shot where? How bad is his injury? Will he need surgery? Will he make a full recovery? Will Dean get to him in time? Why are they hitting what feels like every possible red light? What if something’s wrong at the hospital, what if they can’t treat Cas properly?

Dean can’t lose him. He couldn’t bear it. 

And then somehow they’re at the hospital, Charlie urging him out of the car while she finds parking. Dean dashes through the halls until he finds Cas’ room, then hangs back in the doorway, his heart in his throat.

A doctor stands just inside the door, scribbling something on a clipboard. She gives Dean an encouraging smile. “You must be Officer Novak’s husband,” she says. “Come on in.”

“What? No,” Dean sputters. “I mean, we’re together, but we’re not--”

The doctor just looks puzzled. “Well, you are here to see him, right?”

Dean nods. He rushed to get here, and suddenly it’s like he’s frozen in place, unable to take that last step over the threshold, afraid of what awaits him on the other side. 

“Come on,” the doctor says again. “He’s been asking for you.”

With a deep breath, Dean enters the room to find Cas sitting up in his bed, smiling at him as he sips his apple juice. Dean’s knees feel weak and he has to brace himself against the wall, but he feels his own smile spread across his face, relieved. 

He barely notices the doctor slipping out to give them some privacy, and then he’s perched on the edge of Cas’ bed, gently smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

“God, Cas,” he murmurs. “I was so worried.”

“I know,” Cas replies, catching Dean’s hand and holding it in both of his. “But I’m okay. I’m going to be just fine.”

“I thought--” Dean pauses, looking down for a second. “The curse.”

“No,” Cas replies gently. “Just your average officer injured in the line of duty. I told you this might happen, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean admits. “I just can’t seem to stop myself from worrying, you know?”

“I do know. You think I don’t worry about you, too?”

Dean frowns. “I’m not the one getting shot at.”

“It doesn’t matter. There are plenty of other ways things can go wrong. An accident, a sudden sickness...it’s a normal fear. I’m invested in your well-being, Dean Winchester. Because I love you.”

It’s truly incredible, how he can say such things with such an earnest, open expression on his face as he sits in a hospital bed, thin white gown askew around his shoulders. 

“I love you too,” Dean says thickly. “So don’t you ever do this to me again, okay?”

“Okay,” Cas says, smiling up at him. 

They’re still too far apart for Dean’s liking. “Shove over,” he instructs, and as Cas scoots over to the side of the bed he climbs in beside him, tucking Cas against his chest. 

“Shoulder shot, hmn?” Dean says, looking over his body and noting the bandages. 

“Yes,” Cas replies. “So I’ll be on leave for several weeks, hanging around the house, helpless and demanding, making you do all sort of basic tasks for me.”

Dean laughs, so relieved he thinks he might cry. “You got it,” he says. “I’m going to take such good care of you, you’re never going to want to go back to work.”

“Hmmn,” Cas murmurs, his eyes slipping closed. “Can we just stay here for awhile, first?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Dean replies, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Get some rest, okay?”

It doesn’t take long for Cas to fall asleep. Dean looks down at his face, still slightly pale but peaceful, and thanks the universe for keeping Cas safe for him. 

The doctor comes back in to check on them, and though her eyes widen when she sees Dean squished onto the narrow bed beside Cas, she just smiles at them. “I’ll give you some privacy,” she murmurs, “but the call button is right here if you need anything.”

Dean thanks her with a small nod and a smile, not wanting to speak for fear of waking Cas. She pauses with her hand on the door and says, “You must love him very much.”

“Yeah,” Dean whispers, “I do.”

After she’s gone, Dean can’t help thinking back on what she said, the way she originally assumed he and Cas were married. They’ve been together for seven years, and they’ve never really had a conversation about marriage. Cas will always smile gently and deflect when it comes up in conversation, when someone jokes about one of them making an honest man of the other. He seems to know, instinctively, that it isn’t easy for Dean, bringing back memories the way it does.

Sometimes Dean thinks he doesn’t deserve Cas’ easy acceptance of his hesitations. He feels guilty, wonders if he’s keeping Cas from the life he wants for himself. But Cas also seems to know when Dean is having these doubts, and he’ll kiss him a little more softly, whisper something a little sweeter in his ear as he leaves for work. He never lets Dean doubt him or their love for long.

His left hand is free, and Dean rubs at the spot on his finger where his wedding ring used to sit. It wasn’t there long enough to leave a mark. He looks at it, imagining what kind of ring he might wear there now. Imagining a matching ring on Cas’ hand.

It’s a pleasant thought. One that Dean resolves to consider further, once Cas is better.

And once Cas is discharged, Dean does exactly what he promised he would. He hovers protectively over Cas, helping him with his bandages and feeding him soup until eventually Cas banishes him to the store for an afternoon just to have some peace and quiet. But he kisses Dean fondly when he gets back home and thanks him for all his hard work, and Dean kisses him back and tells him he doesn’t need to be thanked.

Taking care of each other is what they do. And Dean plans to continue to do so for many, many years. Plans on it with such certainty that one day, two weeks after Cas’ accident, he pushes open the door of the small jewelry store in town and says, “I’m looking for an engagement ring.”

***

Dean thought he knew what it meant to be cursed, once. He loved and he lost, and he continued to live despite his sorrow. And then, he was blessed with another love, one that almost frightened him with its intensity. He resisted it at first, afraid he would only lose it again, but in time, he accepted it, and he remains forever grateful that he did.

Dean Winchester is loved and loves in return. He no longer fears the family curse, because every day that he wakes and sees Cas’ head on the pillow beside him, he chooses to believe in them and their love. To believe that there is no force in the world that can challenge it. For all the pain, all the struggle, all the hardships they endured to reach this point, there is this as a reward. And every morning, when Cas opens his eyes and blinks up at him, a smile of such perfect joy tugging at his lips, Dean thinks, _this is true happiness. This is true magic_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I'm so happy to set this story free, and I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
